Bludhaven: City of Birds
by RedGrnBlu
Summary: After a period of amnesia, Dick Grayson, the original protégé of Batman has recovered his memories of being Robin and Nightwing. Can taking on a partner of his own help Dick to find himself again?
1. Partners & Proteges Part 1

**Bludhaven: City of Birds**

**After a period of amnesia, the original protégé of Batman has recovered his memories of being Robin and Nightwing. Can taking on a partner of his own help Dick Grayson find himself again? **

**To hopefully avoid any confusion, this story takes place after the events of Nightwing #50, and even though this hasn't actually happened yet in the comics, after Dick Grayson gets his memory back (Assuming that happens at all? We'll see.).**

**Book 1: Partners & Protoges**

**Prologue**

**Then.**

"Gotham is a city of birds— a city of Owls."

_This sucks. All of this sucks._

"Without us, nothing will ever change."

_I just _had _to come back to Gotham. _

"And you? You'll neer be more than an imitation Wayne—and a knockoff Bat."

_This guy really thinks I haven't heard this before?_

"But _with _us, Richard? Well…"

_He's still talking. Why do they always talk for so long?_

"You could be the greatest bird of all."

_Ugh!_

Dick Grayson winced, partially due to the irritating end of William Cobb's speech, and partially due to the knife lodged in his shoulder.

"You're wrong about Gotham not changing, William. It _does_ change. Take this subway, for example". Dick glanced up at the pipes in the ceiling.

Not so long ago, he was in Gotham City Hall, trying to protect Mayor Hady and the Deputy Mayor from the Talons—reanimated-corpse-assassins of Gotham's secret society: the Court of Owls.

But a battle with William Cobb, a "Talon" of the Court of Owls, and his alleged Great-Grandfather, dragged him away from City Hall and onto subway platform 23.

"As the city became more modern, the power companies needed a way to insulate their cables. So they started packing the lines with liquid nitrogen." Nightwing smirked at Cobb. "Which is why I brought you down here. Because Talons don't like the cold."

Cobb's eyes widened, and he lunged forward faster than anyone's great-grandfather should be able to move.

He was seven feet from Nightwing when the former boy wonder flung three razor-sharp wingdings at the pipes above them, and five feet from his grandson when the wingdings pierced the pipes. Cobb could only get as close as two feet before the liquid nitrogen froze his body solid.

Nightwing brushed off his hands, admittedly just for show, as he was wearing gloves.

"I'll tell you what I _embrace_, William. What I embrace…" Dick hoisted his ancestor's frozen body over his shoulder and began walking toward the tunnel's exit, "Is that destinies don't exist."

* * *

"Dick," Batman's rough, gravelly voice changed to the warmer, softer voice of Bruce Wayne, "listen.

I know it must have been hard, finding out that you were meant to be a Talon, to be one of the owls."

"Well thank you B—" Dick was cut off.

"I'm not done. I know it might seem like I saved you from that destiny, but you could never have been one of them. _Never_. They might have seen something in you, back then, but so did I."

More than he cared to admit, Dick often tuned out the words of his mentor. When he started out as Robin, he was a sponge, soaking up everything Batman said or did, and trying to internalize it—to make it part of himself.

But as time went on, these speeches given to him at the end of a mission started blending together. It was always the same. The dynamic duo had saved the day, but something terrible had _almost_ happened in the process. Occasionally, something terrible actually _had _happened.

After so many close calls and lectures, Dick pretty much knew whatever Batman was going to say. But this wasn't Batman talking. It was Bruce. The human side of his surrogate father. So naturally, Dick was avoiding eye contact, but intently listening.

"..and the truth is, I didn't save you from some dark fate, those years ago. You saved _me _from one."

Dick blinked back a tear—it couldn't have been more than one; superheroes don't cry— and turned toward Bruce. It was one of those moments when—even though he didn't actually say the words, Batman was saying 'I love you.'

"And you still are saving me, every day," Bruce finished. Dick held eye contact with his father for a moment.

_Think of something, brain, come on!_

In reality, he thought of a thousand things to say to his father. A thousand thoughts that he had always wanted to say, and perhaps always will want to say. But Dick knew it wasn't the right time for any of those thoughts.

Dick rubbed his jaw, bruised from a punch thrown by a carbon-fiber-gloved fist. Another strange way of Batman saying 'I love you.' The punch was thrown to knock Nightwing unconscious in the wake of the Court of Owls' attack—to keep him safe.

"Dammit, Bruce. Now I can't hit you." Nightwing smiled, just as Robin smiled. "I'll just have to do it some other time. It's fine, though. I'll just sneak up and surprise you."

The corner of Bruce Wayne's mouth twitched. The Batman version of knee-slapping laughter.

"You'll try."

**Chapter One**

**Now.**

"Dick! DICK!"

Clear blue eyes snapped open.

"_Witnesses?"_

Dick's head throbbed. His body ached. His hand… What was in his hand?

"_Got conflicting reports."_

His right hand gripped a knife tightly, pushing it up something warm and soft. Skin. The skin of a neck. A throat. A person's jugular vein.

"_Everything from a six-year-old girl to a one-armed man."_

Dick's eyes shot up. A man. Handsome features. Messy dark hair. Fierce blue eyes, open wide. He was laying on the ground, pinned there by Dick's body.

"_That's the problem with napkin man."_

Dick blinked. The man was different—a black mask covered the top of his face. Two point—ears?—stood from the top of his head.

"_He just doesn't—"_

Another blink. The same masked face, but behind it—about to whistle past it, a bullet. Dick blinked again. Then screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth.

"_How are you feeling, Dick?"_

He could feel the bullet bore into the side of his head, just missing his temple. The pain should have knocked him unconscious, but every time he felt himself pass out, he was awake again, his skin burning, his skull being drilled.

"_You've been—you got—you were shot. In the head. But you're okay—you're in the hospital. I'm here."_

The hole in his skull is the break in a dam, thousands of memories flood out—no—_IN_.

"_To fight crime and corruption and never swerve from the path of justice"_

"Bruce."

Dick looked into his father's face. He felt dizzy, fluish.

_Can't throw up on Bruce—_

"On with it, my Gray Son!" A ragged voice pierced Dick's thoughts. More memories faded into his mind.

He was in a cave. A tunnel deep under the city of Bludhaven—_his_ city. Bruce Wayne—_Batman_ was pinned beneath him. In his right hand he held a six inch long silver blade with a decorative hilt, made to look like a feathered wing.

On his right, a wall of candles. On his left, the man with the haggard face spoke again. William Cobb. "What keeps you, Richard? He watched as your parents died. He did not allow you to avenge them. He watched you get shot, nearly killed!"

"Dick." Bruce's voice was soft, and his eyes seemed to shine.

"With the blade in your hand, you will avenge your family, Gray Son. You will earn your place with the Court, Richard." Cobb's eyes were open wide, but showed no life. There was no color in his iris, only blackness. Dead eyes.

"My name is Dick."

In less than a second, Nightwing's knees on the ground were in the air, his body twisting, propelled by his left hand against the cave floor. His right arm was a blur, a flicker of motion, and suddenly the feathery hilt of the blade sprung from Cobb's throat.

Cobb's hands grasped for his neck, but in another moment Nightwing was upon him. The students of Batman were instructed not to attack with full their strength to avoid dealing a lethal blow, but William Cobb had died long ago. There was no reason to hold back. A quick jab dislocated Cobb's right shoulder, cutting the silence of the cave with a sharp _CRACK_.

Only a microsecond of quiet passed before a chilling _SNAP-AP-AP_ called out from Cobb's knee. Nightwing's kick was placed perfectly, and the force behind it was unbridled. More than enough to severe the tendons of his great-grandfather.

Cobb began falling toward the ground, but even in the midst of toppling over, his body was already trying to put itself back together. His shoulder popped back into place, and his knee started bending, but then a black blade sprouted from his chest.

Dick didn't need to turn around to know who threw the batarang—he didn't even need to think about it. A blue foam dispensed from the blade, building on itself and spreading across the Talon's body.

A gurgling sound came from Cobb's throat, but the silver knife embedded in it would not allow him to form words.

"Good work, Nightwing."

A strong hand grasped Dick's shoulder, and he whirled around to embrace his father.

"It's good to see you, Bruce."


	2. Partners & Proteges Part 2

**Chapter Two**

"Bludhaven is the city of Nightwing—_the _Nightwing. You did good, Ric." Colleen Edwards offered a warm smile and extended her hand.

Dick turned toward the former detective who had taken up the Nightwing mantle when he lost his memory. One of four of the Nightwings. The four heroes who stood in for Dick when a bullet to his head gave him a case of amnesia that specifically affected his memories of being a superhero.

Until about two hours ago, Dick had no recollection of his time as Robin, nor Nightwing. He didn't know who Batman was, he didn't know any of the Bat-Family—he didn't even know who Bruce Wayne was. He had roamed around the city of Bludhaven as Ric Grayson for six months, driving a taxi during the day and occasionally joining up with the Nightwings to fight crime at night.

"It's— it's actually Dick. Thank you, Detect—err, Commissioner Edwards." Dick shook Colleen's hand, then looked around the rooftop of the Bludhaven Police Department. "Thank you."

The rich baritone timbre of Malcolm Hutch reverberated through the night air. "Well, _actually_ Dick, we're supposed to be thanking you." It was good to see Hutch laughing. The firefighter, and another of the Nightwings, was supporting himself on crutches. His leg was broken in two places by Cobb.

Dick felt two ghosts on the roof with them. Zak Edwards, Colleen's younger brother, was stabbed eight times by Cobb and pinned to a billboard, left to bleed out. Cobb used Zak's body as a greeting card to let Dick know he had returned.

Alphonse Sapiensa, the leader of the Nightwings, had his neck snapped by Cobb because he refused to reveal Dick's location. Another death that would weigh on Dick's shoulders for the rest of his life.

"I'm so sorry. You've both lost so much." Dick looked down at the floor, he couldn't meet the former Nightwings' eyes. "And all because I wasn't doing my job."

"Hey, we knew the risks." Colleen said quietly. After Zak was killed, Colleen shed her Nightwing costume and help the other 'Wings track down Cobb from within the legal system, as Detective Edwards. Her work resulted in her promotion, but Dick doubted that was worth losing her brother. "Don't worry, Nightwing. We don't blame you. We're just glad you're back."

Malcolm glanced at his watch. "Well I don't know about you guys, but I'm exhausted. And since William Cobb is frozen solid and headed to Blackgate Prison, I'd say we earned a good night's sleep."

Colleen chuckled and began walking toward the stairwell. "I'd say you're right, Hutch."


	3. Partners & Proteges Part 3

**Chapter Three**

**Then.**

"Uh-oh."

Hank smirked at his younger brother, quickly and smoothly crossing the basketball from his right hand to his left. He jabbed his right foot forward, then pulled it back and elevated his body, extending his arms and flicking his wrist. He watched as the ball sailed over his brother's head and toward the basket—

_Swish._

"Uh-oh, is right, dude. That's 21 for me. Good game, Tanner." Hank laughed and reached out his hand for a fist bump—the ultimate show of sportsmanship.

"No, I mean uh-oh, it's dark out. We should probably get back." Hank turned around, following his brother's gaze to a window that revealed the night sky of Gotham.

"Whoops. You know, I'm supposed to be the one to say that to you. I'm older, I'm the responsible one." Hank turned around once more to see Tanner picking up their backpacks.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Hank." Tanner gave him a wry smile, much too wry for a ten year old to give his thirteen-year-old brother. Hank rolled his eyes and snatched his backpack from his brother.

"Let's go, already. Hopefully they haven't thrown away our dinner."

The two boys exited the Martha Wayne Community Center, hopping down the steps two at a time before beginning their walk.

"I don't think I've ever been around here when it's dark," Tanner said quietly.

"It's cool, right? Like a whole different world at night!"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"T, we only have to walk like four blocks—basically only three now. There's no reason to be scared." Hank teased his brother plenty, but he knew how to pick his moments. This was not one of them. This was serious, reassuring older brother time.

"I'm not scared, Hank. I was just stating a fact," Tanner stated matter-of-factly. He sped up his walk to pass Hank and take the lead, proving that he was not scared. "Gotham stopped being scary to me a long time ago."

"You're not going to tell the Batman and Robin story again are you?" _Now_, Hank was teasing. In sync, the boys glanced at either side of the street, then crossed.

"Well I'm certainly not going to tell it, now, Henry." Tanner stopped in front of a thin, small gate which blocked an alleyway and turned to Hank expectantly.

"Ouch, the full name treatment." Hank quickly got on one knee and locked his hands together, boosting his younger brother up so he could clamber over the gate. Traditionally, this would be the time when Tanner would unlock the gate so that Hank could come through, but instead he folded his arms and stood still.

Hank met his brother's curious gray eyes. Tanner probably didn't know anything about poker, but he'd be a hell of a player. He could make his face impossible to read. But Hank knew exactly what Tanner wanted to hear.

"Will you please tell the Batman and Robin story, T?"

Tanner's poker face broke into a self-satisfied smile, revealing the dimples the brothers shared. If it weren't for his gray eyes and deep brown hair, Tanner would have been the spitting image of Hank. But Hank's sandy hair and green eyes always helped their foster parents to tell them apart.

"I will, Henry, thank you for asking." Tanner unlatched the gate and the pair started through the alleyway. "It was a dark and stormy night, but that's normal for Gotham. Jared and I sort of wanted to go to the convenience store and get a snack, but you and Aubrey told us no..."

Hank chortled at the memory. Two of their closest friends in their former foster home. They were an inseparable quartet.

"And so of course we _had _to go, because we knew that both of you were just being dumb and trying to impress each other by acting like grownups."

"One: I was not trying to impress her, and two: she was _definitely _not trying to impress me." Hank rolled his eyes. "We were strictly friends."

"You _are_ strictly friends, Hank. They're not dead. And anyway, you _definitely _were trying to impress her. She is your first true love." Tanner had the gift of speaking so confidently that he could fool people into thinking all his words were factual. The brothers stepped out of the alley and turned right onto the streetlamp lit sidewalk. One block from the home.

"I'm sorry, is this a Hank and Aubrey story? Because I thought it was a Batman and Robin st—"

_POP POP._

Two gunshots rang out from behind the brothers. Hank whirled around and instinctively put his body in front of the sound and his brother. Down the road, Hank could just make out three figures moving toward the pair.

"T, get back in the alley."

Hank started slowly backing toward the alley, away from the light, allowing the darkness to swallow him, and more importantly protect Tanner. Down the street, one voice shouting.

"Stop! You are resisting arrest! Police!"

_POP._

"Hank, come on!" Tanner pulled Hank's arm back further into the alley. Hank turned toward his brother and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark.

_Think fast, Hank. Somewhere for Tanner to hide… Fire escape!_

"Here, T, you go up here!" Hank whispered urgently as he pulled down the ladder. As he listened to the shouting and footsteps getting closer and closer, Hank hoisted his brother up to grab the ladder. "Climb. Fast."

Tanner scurried up the ladder. Hank heard heavy breathing and footsteps right around the corner. "_Do. Not. Move._" Hank folded the ladder back up, then dashed to the other side of the alley, crouching behind a dumpster.

The footsteps had arrived. Two men in black raced into the alley. One of them carried a backpack tightly and clutched tightly at the straps.

_Thieves._

"What do we do? Hide? Run?"

_Run. Please run away._

"Up the fire escape, go, go!"

_No._

Hank's heart froze. He knew he had to move, to help Tanner, but he couldn't move. Backpack started unfolding the ladder—

_POP. POP._

Backpack dropped to the ground with a sickening thud. No-Pack quickly dropped as well.

"Jesus."

_No cry of pain, no trouble speaking. He's not hit._

The officer sprinted into the alley, stopping when he reached the bodies. Hank opened his mouth to warn the officer, but he couldn't make any sound. His entire mouth had dried up. No-Pack grabbed the officer's leg and pulled it out from under him.

With a grunt, the officer fell to the ground. Hank heard several more grunts as he watched the officer and the thief wrestle on the ground. They fought for control of the gun.

Hank's eyes were on the barrel of the officer's pistol as it was jerked around in the struggle. Wherever the gun was pointing, Hank saw a laser pointer of potential death. The barrel passed over him once, twice, three times—

_POP. POP._

A pained cry came from No-Pack as he slumped to the ground. The officer began to stand up, breathing heavily, and finally met Hank's eyes. His eyes widened in surprise.

"You saw all that, son? I'm so sor—"

_THUD._

A shadow had dropped down from above. Hank couldn't breathe. His brother lay on the alley floor, clutching at his chest.

"NO! TANNER!"

Hank rushed to his brother's side. His ten year old brother. His only family.

"Please. Please, T. Please be okay." Hank couldn't feel bile rise in his throat. He couldn't feel the tears leaving his eyes.

"Hank..." Tanner's face was tear streaked. His small hands pressed against the bullet hole in his shirt hopelessly. "There's so much blood. I'm so scared." His gray eyes were no longer curious. They were terrified. And then they were blank.


	4. Partners & Proteges Part 4

**Chapter Four**

**Now.**

"Hank. Hank. Hank. Henry. Hank. Hank."

Deep green eyes unglazed, but Hank rubbed them just for good measure. Zoning out was nothing new.

"Sorry, so sorry, what's up Kenz?"

Hank looked across the table at his friends. Mackenzie "Kenzie" Reed. Shoulder length fiery red hair, a spray of freckles, and hazel eyes stared back at him.

"Are. You. Coming. Over. Tonight." Kenzie poked him with each word.

"Oh, I dunno, Kenz. I have work, and you know we have that test coming up in Physics—"

"Yeah, dummy, that's why we're going to Kenzie's house." Hank turned toward Will Bennett to see his dark brown eyes peering at him over a water bottle. Will finished drinking and exhaled loudly to announce he was refreshed. "Physics study group! We'll learn all about pendulums and shit."

"And we're gonna get drunk as hell too." Will and Kenz glanced over to the new voice, and Hank's eyes followed. He knew exactly what she looked like before his eyes were on her, but he still smiled every time he saw her long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Elizabeth "Liz" Carter was a sight that was burned into his memory. "Hey, there are those dimples!"

"I heard that if you study drunk, you're supposed to take the test drunk, too," Hank offered. "But I'm still not sure, guys. I'm really busy at work, and this is… a boy-girl party? Coeducational?"

"Relax, Hank. All the kids in Bludhaven are doing boy-girl parties. Plus, my brother said that most of the tests he's taken in college, he's taken while drunk," Will laughed.

"How's Lance's GPA doing again?" Kenzie asked with a giggle.

"Look, we'll prove it tonight," Liz started, "We'll all get sloshed tonight, and then Kenz and Will can get drunk for the test. Henry and I are the control group—we'll stay sober during the test." Chortles filled the air around the table as Liz winked at Hank.

For a second he almost forgot where he was again, but then his brain began working again.

"Okay, I'm in." Hank grinned. "I'll come by after work tonight, but only because we're doing science."

* * *

_Knock, knock._

Two raps on the open door to his office caught the attention of Scott Daniels, pulling his gaze up from the case files on his desk and toward his intruder.

"Hank! Come in!" Scott found it hard to hold back a smile when he saw his favorite client, even when he was particularly irritated with him.

"How have you been Scott?" Hank plopped down on the chair across from Scott's desk. "Working social or socially working, am I right?"

Scott rolled his eyes at the joke he had heard for the umpteenth time. "As I said last time, and the time before that, that _still _doesn't make any sense, Hank."

Ever the charmer, Henry Duncan was. Hank's case was brought to Scott when he was new to social work, and initially, Scott had many doubts he could handle Henry. Hank had faced more trauma in 14 years than many people would face in a lifetime. But as hesitant as he was to take Hank on, Scott felt some kind of pull toward him.

"So, what did you want to talk about? And just FYI, I have work in 45 minutes." Hank pulled an apple out of his backpack and took a bite with a loud _crunch. _

"Well, Hank, yesterday I made a few calls… One call was to Gotham City University, another to Hudson University, and another to Bludhaven U."

Hank wasn't sure how he did it, but somehow Scott seemed to change the color of his eyes with his mood. Most times, Scott's irises were a bright blue, radiating warmth and kindness. Other times, like right now, they were steely gray.

"Ah. I see. What, uh, what did you hear from them?" Hank asked, quickly taking another bite of his apple to avoid speaking more. _I'm in trouble. _

"Specifically, I called the admissions departments of each school. In each of the calls, I asked about the application status of a Henry Duncan. And do you know what they said?" Scott held across the table. "They said no one with that name had applied there."

"Okay, look I can exp—"

"I'm still talking, Hank." Hank had never heard Scott yell, but he had experienced this voice before. Hard as granite. Staccato tempo. Last time Scott had sounded like this, he was speaking with the New Jersey State adoption board, and demanding that he be given legal guardianship over Hank. "You're one of the most mature 17 year old kids I know, Hank, and one of the brightest people I know, period. You are graduating from high school in less than a year. Graduating earlier than most people do. You have so much potential."

Hank appreciated the kind words, but he had heard them before. Many times.

"You had to grow up faster than any kid should. College is a unique time when you can enjoy being a kid in an adult's body. Time for you to find yourself—figure out who Hank Duncan is. Please, please just give it a chance."

"I—Okay, Scott. I will, I promise."

Hank knew he wanted to argue, but Scott had given him so much. It was hard for Hank to disagree with him when he only wanted to keep helping. When Scott secured custody of Hank a year ago, they both moved to Bludhaven to get away from Gotham, where they both had too many rough memories.

Scott offered to take Hank in, house him, feed him, clothe him, but Hank refused to be a burden. Plus, after spending his life in a foster home, he was ready to live without a roommate. Scott found him a studio apartment and covered Hank's rent for three months while he searched for a job.

"I want you to apply to all three of those schools. With your grades and track records, you'll obviously get in, and then we can visit each one, together. Ask around about scholarship opportunities." Scott's eyes were shifting from steely gray to warm blue once again.

"You know, most of the time they just give you the scholarship automatically based on your standardized test scores. There's not that many just, random scholarships given out anymore, old man." As usual, Hank took the chance to tease as soon as the serious moment had passed.

"I'm barely 30, Hank. A hip young millennial. I know how scholarships work." Scott pushed back his brown hair in an exaggerated show of annoyance.

"Hip and young, huh? Hmm." Hank glanced down at his phone for the time. "Hey, that reminds me, I've gotta run to work! Oh, and by the way, when are you coming to meet Miss Granger?"

Scott rolled his eyes at the young man's exaggerated wink. "I love you, Hank, but I do not need you to play matchmaker for me."

Hank was headed out the door but stopped to turn around and seize the last word. "I showed her that picture of us at the pond—she says you're very cute. And, I told her about your mysterious color changing eyes. She very much wants to meet you!"

Hank's voice lilted into a sing-songy-melody as he strode away from the door. Scott shook his head, smiling, and looked down at his paperwork. "A pleasure as always, Henry."

* * *

Nightwing gazed across the rooftops of Bludhaven, a sight that normally set him at peace. But ever since his memories returned, he couldn't quite feel all the way peaceful. He was hungry. Not for food, but for justice.

He shook his head with a smirk. "What a stupid thought."

"Are you being corny on rooftops again, Man Wonder?"

Dick had almost forgotten he was talking with Barbara Gordon. He laughed and leapt off the roof, launching his grapple toward the next rooftop over and hearing it secure itself with a _thunk, ck-click. _

"When have you known me to be corny, Batgirl?"

"I have always known you to be corny, Nightwing. How's the Blud?"

If the rooftops couldn't set him at peace, talking to his oldest friend certainly helped. Since Barbara was in Gotham, he had no reason to hide the big dumb smile on his face as he sailed through the air.

"It's too quiet for me tonight. I feel so behind. I feel like I need to save the city three times over to catch up on the time I lost." Nightwing heard a distant _oof_ over his communicator, and a quick deep breath from Babs. He wasn't 100 percent sure, but he figured there was at least a 95 percent chance that someone had just received a roundhouse kick to the stomach.

"I know, Dick, but you can't beat yourself up for having amnesia. I'm still just glad to have you back."

"Did whomever you just kicked hear you say my real name?" Nightwing landed gracefully on protrusion protecting the neon signage of the _Pier City_ _Casino_ and scanned over the docks and harbors. Still nothing.

"No, he's definitely knocked out. If there's no action in Bludhaven, you could swing by Gotham, if you wanted…" Barbara's voice brightened, "It's been a while since I've seen Dick Grayson."

Dick's mind was torn. Parts of him, so many parts of him wanted to go to Gotham and do just that. He hadn't seen Barbara in person since regaining his memories, and he recalled that during his time as Ric Grayson, he was not always very kind to her.

Barbara, more than any of the other Bat-Family members, had tried so hard to reach out to Ric, although the person she really hoped to reach was Dick. Nightwing sighed and thought of all of his memories with Barbara. His first love. His best friend—tied with Wally West, of course.

"Babs, I would absolutely come spend time with you—I _will_ come see you. But for now…" Dick searched for the right words. As Ric, he had a relationship with a bartender named Bea, and even though Dick did not have feelings for her himself, he still had memories of those feelings. "It's just hard. I don't want to jump into anything too fast. My brain… I'm still figuring this out. Becoming me again, after being Ric, but still remembering being Ric."

"Dick, I know." Babs was always good at hiding the hurt in her voice, though of course Nightwing knew what that sounded like. "I'm sorry, I don't want to trouble you. Don't feel any pressure from me, okay? We'll catch up soon."

"That sounds great, Babs," Dick's big, dumb, talking-to-Barbara-Gordon-smile was back on his face. "Whenever I make the rounds, you'll be my first stop, okay?"

The former boy wonder vaguely heard her say something in response, but was distracted by the flashing of a light a few blocks away. "Hold that thought, Babs, I think I just found some action. Love ya!"

As he had done so many times before, Nightwing swung toward the danger with a smirk.


	5. Partners & Proteges Part 5

**Chapter Five**

"Henry, you were supposed to clock out an hour ago." Jan Granger's voice had hints of sternness, but nothing could hide the permanent warmth in her timbre. Hank loved hearing her speak. It was like all of her words somehow sparkled.

"I know, Miss Gra—"

"Hank."

"Sorry, I know, Jan." Hank laughed, still not all the way used to calling his boss by her first name. "I just want to finish making this sign."

"I don't want you out on the streets so late, Henry. Haven't you heard about kids around your age going missing recently?" Still sparkly, but her voice emanated concern.

Henry's mind flashed to the flyers of children's faces posted on street lamps and telephone poles around the city. Tanner's face fading into view caused Hank to frown and push the thought away.

Somewhere across the room, Lionel Richie's voice crooned out from the record player. Hank took a moment to look at his canvas, the chalkboard that would sit outside the coffee shop.

He had done his best to make it look like a sunset, with soft pastel orange, pink, and purple layers. He felt a small smile of pride creep onto his face, and finished the last of the teal lettering on the sign.

"Leave your frown at the door." Henry heard Jan's twinkling voice behind him. "That's very nice, Henry."

"Very nice because they're your words." Hank turned around to see Jan's bright green eyes and warm, soft smile. "You said that to me my second shift here. I was having a crummy day, and somehow you knew right when I walked in."

Jan's eyes shone brightly. "Well, I'm touched you remember."

"I try my best to remember everything you say, Jan." Henry looked down at his feet, holding back a wave of emotion that washed over him. "You've done so much for me, and so much for everyone around here."

Union, Jan's coffee shop and grocery store, had not only provided Hank with a stable way to pay his rent over the past year, but also served as a place for the local community of Port's Park, one of the lower-income districts of Bludhaven, to escape the more dangerous streets.

The coffee and groceries were fairly priced, and local youth were always welcome in Union. If they were spending time in the shop, they weren't endangering themselves on the streets or joining gangs. And Jan herself, Hank was convinced, was actually some sort of angel.

He had never met someone so kind and selfless. She had the patience to deal with Hank, and her sense of duty to the people around her was inspiring. Jan offered warmth, kindness, and any help she could manage to every person she met.

"_If you spend time with someone, anyone, and you don't spend that time making their day better, then you've wasted that time."_

"Oh, Henry." Hank blinked, he didn't realize it, but he was embraced by Jan in a tight hug. "You've done just as much for me as I've done for you. You always help more than you should here, and without you helping me to spread the word about Union, I would have lost this place."

"Wait, you mean we've got enough?!"

"That's right. I counted the last of it today."

Money was often tight for Jan, because she always wanted to give so much and never take. Union had become more popular over the past few months, and Hank had helped Jan with marketing and a social media presence.

"You can renew the lease for next year?" Hank was now embracing Jan, picking her up and spinning around. "That's so amazing, Jan!"

"You were a big part of making it happen, Hank. I'm taking the money to the bank tonight." Jan brought an envelope out from the pocket of her dark green apron.

"No, Jan, let me do it. You close up shop here. It's dangerous out there at this time of night."

"I'll have you know, Mister Duncan, that I've been taking care of myself just fine at night all my life here. As in longer than you've lived here. I know a thing or two about these streets."

Hank chuckled and shook his head. "Okay, well how about I go with you? I'll even clock out before I do it, so you won't have to pay me."

"Oh! That reminds me!" Jan's eyes sparkled for a moment and she dashed behind a counter before returning with a brown leather jacket. "I wish I could pay you more, Hank, I really do. You can think of this as a bonus for helping me keep this place open."

Henry looked at the jackets and his eyes felt wet for a moment. "It's beautiful, Jan, but I can't—"

"You can and you will." Jan's voice still twinkled, even when it was stern. "It was… It was Jason's jacket, and I know if he knew you, he would want you to have it."

Hank looked in the eyes of his surrogate mother. It was sometimes strange to think of Jan that way, because she was only 32 years old, but she was the closest thing he had.

Her late husband Jason, had opened the Union with her before Hank arrived in Bludhaven, before he was killed in a mugging gone wrong. Hank could not believe Jan would give him the jacket of someone she loved as much as Jason.

He put the jacket on over his navy blue t-shirt and glanced at himself in the mirror behind the counter. It was a bit roomy, not quite a perfect fit, but it was close.

"You look a lot like him, you know." Jan's eyes looked a bit wet, too.

"Thank you so much, Jan." Hank wiped his eyes. "Okay, let's go get that envelope to the bank."

They walked out the door, and Hank turned around to lock it, but as he fished the keys out of his pocket, two dark figures raced past him and Jan, bumping into both of them and knocking them down.

"Are you o—" Hank started to get up, but then another pair of men rushed between them, one man pushing Hank back into the door.

"Move it!"

Hank grunted as his back hit the doorknob, and his eyes widened as he saw the other man snatch the envelope from Jan's hand. The men started to turn the corner into the alley on the side of the Union.

Hank's body moved automatically. His brain had a thousand thoughts and memories at once. He threw open the door and sprinted into the store. Hank had stopped running track before high school, but he knew exactly where the thieves were going, and that he was fast enough to catch these guys.

He wasn't exactly sure what he'd do when he met up with them, but Jan needed that money to keep the store open.

_And if no one stops these guys…_

More memories flooded Hank's mind.

_Not again._

Hank's eyes narrowed with determination. He heard Jan's twinkling voice calling him to stop, but he was already hurdling over the counter and at the back door. He kicked it open and dashed into the alley.

* * *

Nightwing had seen this game played before. A one-two-punch kind of robbery. One person, or in this case, two, go in first to distract the target, then the second wave comes to do the actual theft.

The men dashed into the alley, two by two. They looked to be running as fast as they could.

_Not fast enough._

Dick sprinted across the roof of the Union coffee shop and leapt, flipping and twisting through the air before landing right in the middle of the four men.

"Fellas! You guys running late for the subway?"

Dark clothes, black stocking or baseball caps. Classic thug wear. Nightwing was surrounded on all sides. Meaning each of these clowns were within his reach.

Before he sprung into action, a door behind Nightwing was flung open, and in his peripheral he saw the blonde young man from in front of the store jump over the two stairs of the back porch and into the alley.

"That's not yours!" the kid yelled. He must have been in high school.

_Hmm. He's enthusiastic. Not a super clever line, though._

Nightwing knew he had to make this quick, to make sure the kid didn't get hurt. "Watch out, kid!" He whirled around and kicked his foot out behind him, knocking the thug off balance and toward the kid.

While he spun, Nightwing whipped out his escrima sticks and slammed one into the thug on his right's stomach, using his other hand to jab the stick into the side of his neck, knocking him out.

He anticipated the punch from behind him, dropping to the floor and sweeping his leg out behind him, knocking over thug number three. While the third thug fell, Nightwing popped back up and brought his elbow into the nose of thug number four, sending him crumpling to the ground.

After delivering the elbow, Nightwing engaged his tricep, snapping his forearm forward and releasing his hand, sending the escrima stick hurtling through the air. The stick ricocheted off the alley wall and clocked the grounded thug in the forehead.

_CRACK._

Nightwing reached out and caught the stick, spinning toward the thug he had kicked toward the kid, only to see a blonde head duck underneath a telegraphed punch. The kid was quick—his fist into the last thug's stomach, causing him to double over. As the thug bent down, the kid grabbed his head with both hands and drove his knee into the thug's face.

_Huh. More than just enthusiastic._

"Not bad, kid." Nightwing grinned as he walked toward the young man. "That was very brave of you."

The blonde head had dipped down again, the young man kneeling, then rising with the envelope clutched tightly in his hand. Nightwing was met with determined deep green eyes, but he knew partial shock when he saw it.

"It's over, man. Who taught you to fight?"


	6. Partners & Proteges Part 6

**Chapter Six**

"Who taught you to fight?"

Hank blinked, and remembered how to breathe.

"Uh, I—You're Nightwing."

_Great. Looking very cool in front of the superhero, Duncan._

"Like, the real one, I mean." Hank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. With all of the excitement of the chase, the alley confrontation, and seeing Nightwing drop in from out of nowhere, it had taken a shot to the mouth from the thug before Hank was able to really get his head in the game.

Nightwing's head tilted back in a laugh. "That's right, I guess I am. You got some important stuff in that envelope?"

Hank looked down at his hand, then back up at Nightwing. "I do. It's—for a friend."

"Henry! Are you okay?" Jan's twinkling voice came from the entrance of the alley.

"He's just fine, ma'am." Nightwing's voice was so confident, so reassuring. Jan's eyes widened as she got close enough to get a look at the pair of young men.

"Oh, oh my god!" Jan rushed toward Hank and put her hand on his cheek. "What the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten hurt!"

Hank ran his tongue over the cut on his lip, and gave a sheepish smile. "Well, you know, they—They were going to take the money." He held out the envelope and rubbed the back of his head.

Jan's eyes narrowed and she snatched the envelope before spinning around to face Nightwing. "You see his lip? You let him get hit in the face? What is wrong with you?" She demanded.

Nightwing put both his hands up in surrender. "I'm very sorry, miss. I—" Suddenly Jan sprang forward and embraced him tightly. Nightwing's mouth opened in surprise.

"Thank you for helping. Oh god, if you weren't here—If something happened to him…" Jan shook her head and let go of Nightwing, exhaling in a small cough as she stepped away.

"Uh, yeah, well… Do you two need anything else?" Nightwing glanced over to Hank.

"Actually, we were going to take this envelope to the bank. It's really important." Hank tried to communicate a silent message to the superhero with his eyes.

_And she's a little shaken up._

"How about I come along then?" Nightwing grinned. "Private security."

Dick Grayson shook the hand of the young man, Hank, as Jan finished up at the ATM.

"Well it was nice to meet you, Hank." Nightwing smirked. "And of course you as well, Jan."

"It was wonderful to meet you, too, Nightwing." Jan had a very pleasant voice. It made Dick think about a talking moon from a TV show he saw when he was young. "How can I thank you for this? Would you like coffee?"

"No, really that's okay. Maybe I'll take you up on it some other night. Do either of you need help getting home?"

Jan laughed. "Oh, please, I've been walking these streets longer than you've been running on the rooftops, Mister Wing." She gave Nightwing a wink and turned to Hank. "Henry, you get home safe, and you _better_ ice that lip."

Hank laughed and wrapped an arm around Jan in a hug. "Okay I will—geez, _Mom_."

Jan strode confidently away, and Hank turned toward Nightwing.

"Seriously man, thank you. She's… She's the best person I know, and that shop means everything to her."

Dick smiled softly and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Kid, did you not hear her in the alley? She didn't care about the money for the store, she cared about _you._" Hank's eyes dropped to the ground.

"Well, thank you again, uh, Nightwing." He let loose a quick laugh. "Sorry, it's just—It's one thing to say the name when you're talking, like, _about_ you. Saying 'Nightwing' directly to you just seems kind of silly."

Nightwing laughed and released Hank's shoulder. "You're right kid, it's kind of silly. Now you'd better get on home, it's a school night, right?"

Hank chuckled again and nodded. He turned away and began walking, then turned around. His green eyes were curious.

"Sorry, not to bother you, but—Why do you do this?"

"This being, dress up in a ridiculous costume, call myself a silly name, and fight muggers in alleys?" Nightwing smirked.

"Well, yeah." Hank gave a sheepish smile.

"I'm just a guy trying to help, Hank."


	7. Partners & Proteges Part 7

**Chapter Seven**

**Now. Four months later.**

"Yo! Duncan! Where were you last night?"

Hank turned toward the accusing voice, only to be met with bright blue eyes and long blonde hair.

"Last night?" Hank raised an eyebrow. "What was—"

"We were going to get frozen yogurt, at that new place. You said you wanted to eat a dessert that was 'just okay'." Liz Carter folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at Hank. "I texted you four times, I even called you once. I don't just press the 'call' button for anyone, Duncan."

"Right, oh man, I'm sorry Liz, last night I was—"

"_I don't need to hurt ya, lady, just give me the damn purse."_

"_Hey man. Whatcha doin?"_

"I was uh—I got held up at work." Hank rubbed the back of his neck.

"I thought you had the day off on Thursdays?" Liz was not satisfied. "And what the hell happened to your eye?"

"_Who the hell are y—"_

_Hank quickly stepped out of the shadows toward the thug._

"_I'm just a guy. Let the purse go." Hank stepped forward again, this time faster, exhaling as he threw a punch toward the man's stomach. His punch was knocked off course by the thug's arm, Hank's eyes widened and his head snapped up just in time to get clocked in the side of the head, just to the side of his right eye. _

Hank rubbed his face and grinned sheepishly. "I, uh, stepped on a broom and the handle snapped up and hit me in the eye." Hank half-coughed, half-laughed. "It was right out of a cartoon."

Liz's bright blue eyes were darker than normal. Her brow was furrowed, her jaw set. "I'm not an idiot, Hank. Who hit you? Are you okay?"

_Hank stumbled backward, clutching at his eye. The whole world was vibrating. _

"_Ow," he muttered. The thug charged toward him, and Hank dove out of the way, knocking over a trash can. He glanced up and saw the larger man coming at him once more. The man threw a left hook, and Hank's hands searched for anything near him in the pile of trash. _

_His hand gripped around a plastic handle, and he whipped it toward the thug's oncoming fist._

_CLANG._

"_Shit! Shit!" The thug gripped his hand, throbbing from colliding with the rusty saucepan Hank had held in front of his face. Hank glanced quickly at the saucepan, then at the man. He slammed the pan on top of the man's head, then swept the man's legs out from under him._

_Another 'CLANG' rang out as the man's pan-covered-head hit the ground. Hank climbed over the unconscious body._

"_Well, you think you can" he paused to catch his breath, and looked for the woman who had been in the alley previously, "call… the police?" She was nowhere to be found. "Alright."_

"Look, it's not that bad. It was just some guy I was sparring with at Grayson's Gym." Hank looked down. Without realizing it, he held Liz's hand in his own.

"Okay." Liz bit her lip. "You know you can tell me anything, right Duncan?"

"I know, Carter." Hank shot her a grin. "Are we holding hands?"

'_You want another black eye, there Hank?'_

"Maybe we are." Liz smiled back and winked one bright blue eye before turning around. Hank blinked twice—the response he expected from her was very different than what she actually said. "By the way, cool cap and gown, dork."

Hank looked down at the dark blue graduation attire he wore. He glanced to the cap and gown Liz had folded in her right hand, and then to the pale blue sundress she wore as she walked away.

"Are we not supposed to be wearing this already?"

* * *

Baby blue eyes fluttered open. Dick woke up and stretched, then cocked his head.

_What's that noise?_

He stepped out of bed and threw on some gym shorts and a tank top, walking toward the thumping sound he heard coming from the stairwell of his loft. He hopped the railing, skipping the stairs and landing right in front of the door to his gym.

As the door creaked open, he squinted, the gym's bright fluorescent lights were already turned on, and a Brockhampton song played over the speakers. He gazed across the gym floor and saw a sandy-haired head bobbing up and down as Hank Duncan wailed away at a punching bag.

"Morning, sunshine." Dick greeted the young man with a wry smile as he rubbed one eye. Hank quickly stopped punching, using one taped hand to grasp at the remote on the floor next to him, muting the speakers.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, Dick, did I wake you up?" Hank's face wore its own half-grin.

Dick was planning on at least feigning annoyance with the young man, but there was always something so sincere, so genuine in Henry Duncan's green eyes, it made it hard to even pretend to be mad at the kid.

"No, I'm always awake at 5:30 on a Tuesday morning." Dick laughed.

"Ah, man, I'm sorry, I just—Wait, what's that on your neck?"

"_You know—even though Ric Grayson wasn't you, he was still really hot." _

"_Oh, yeah?"_

Dick's hand instinctively covered the small bruise on the right side of his throat. "Ah, it's nothing." Dick cleared his throat. "I just bruise easy, I guess."

"_It's the short hair, right? And the scar? I know Barbara Gordon digs sc—hey!"_

_No verbal response, but Dick felt a light pinch on the right of his throat._

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Yeah man, whatever. I know what happens when a man and woman love each other very much."

"Don't you have school this morning?" Dick gave a light shove to the sandy-haired young man in front of him.

"Graduation was Friday night, Dick. I'm done with school, officially."

"Hank! Why didn't you tell me? I would have come."

Dick remembered his graduation from Gotham Heights High School. He looked into the crowd and saw Barbara and Alfred, but not Bruce. He was busy beating up some mobster.

"Nah, man, you're a busy guy. Don't worry about it. It wasn't a big deal." Hank grabbed a water bottle and took a long swig.

"Did Jan cry?"

"A lot." Hank laughed. "Scott almost did, too, I could tell. They're together now, by the way. They haven't told me, yet, but I know."

"Well I'm sure they both told you, but I want to say it too: I'm proud of you." Dick smiled at his recently made friend.

After helping Hank and Jan that night several months ago as Nightwing, Dick couldn't help but remain interested in their lives.

He 'happened' to wander into the Union coffee shop and 'just threw out' an idea to Jan to partner together to help the local community, giving youths something to do other than get into trouble on the streets. They could come burn off steam at Grayson's Gym, or chill out and study at the Union.

"Thank you, Dick, really." Hank smiled, then looked at the floor. "Listen, I'd better go—You get back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."

"You don't have to apologize to me, Hank. If you've gotta go, go, but if you want to stay, you're always welcome." Dick winked at the sandy-haired youth, then whispered, "That's why I gave you a key to the gym."

"I know I'm welcome. I just gotta get to the Union. I'm covering for Jan so she and Scott can spend the day together—but of course, I don't know anything about that."

* * *

"So you and Liz are, like, a thing, right?"

Hank looked up from the mug he was washing, and met Will's dark brown eyes. "I don't know what that means, Will."

Will sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hank, what did you do on Friday night?"

"What? You mean, graduation?"

"Yeah, that's what I mean." Will took a sip of coffee, peering over his mug at his friend. "And at graduation, what did you do, while everyone else was sitting and watching?"

"I, uh, gave a speech?" Hank switched towels and began drying the mug.

"A salutatorian speech, Hank. Meaning your GPA was _second _in our class of 542 students."

"You flatter, me, Mister Bennett."

"_Meaning_ you're not stupid. In fact, you're smart. Smart enough to know what _a thing_ means. And smart enough to know that you and Elizabeth Carter are one." Will took another sip of his coffee, then clunked the mug back onto the counter.

"Okay, look, yes, we're maybe some sort of a _thing._" Hank placed the dry mug on the rack behind him and then grabbed Will's empty one. "But really, I don't know exactly what kind of thing we are. And she's about to go off to college, and I'm, I don't know—"

Hank trailed off as an interesting scene caught his eye across the room. The sign outside clearly said to leave all frowns at the door, but the two young men behind the avocado stand in the corner of the store were clearly not smiling.

"Hank?" Will called out, as Hank idly walked out from behind the counter toward the suspicious pair.

_They're fine. They're not up to anything. Just go check and see if they need anything._

As Hank approached, he could sort of read the lips of the man on the right in the blood red shirt.

"_Tonight in Avalon Hill… Paying extra..." _

Hank wasn't as good at lip reading as he would have liked. The next words were either something about 'extra help' or 'Ander Heights'. Hank suddenly realized he was too close to not appear to be eavesdropping

"Hey guys, anything I can help you with?" Hank said loudly, putting on his best 'clueless employee' voice.

"Nah, man, we're good," the gentleman on the left in yellow said quickly. No edge in his voice, but a very fast answer.

"Ah, well those avocados aren't quite in season yet, but I'm sure you can find a few good ones in there!" Hank motioned to the stand and turned away. "If you need me, I'm at the counter!"

"Hank, you okay?" Will asked his friend as Hank slowly walked back behind the counter. "Did they tip?"

Hank laughed dryly. "It's all good, William."

"Okay great, then back to you and Liz. Or—oops, I actually have to go. Wanna hang tonight after work and you can tell me about the _thing_ then?" Will's mischievous grin was returned quickly by Hank.

"I'd love to, but I'm actually getting dinner with Liz after work."


	8. Partners & Proteges Part 8

**Chapter Eight**

Nightwing swung across the plaza of Haven Square. His sources mentioned some sort of deal going down tonight in Avalon Hill, one of the more wealthy districts of Bludhaven. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flashing blue light on the rooftop across the street-the roof of the Bludhaven Police Department. He smiled and took off toward toward the lights.

"You needed me, commissioner?"

"God! You can't sneak up on me like that, kid." Colleen's steely gray eyes softened as she relaxed. "For me, there is no fight or flight, it's only fight. I don't want to accidentally shoot you."

"That would be bad," Nightwing agreed with a grin, stepping out of the shadows. He liked Colleen a lot. She worked hard, she was honest, and she was fearless. Great qualities for a police commissioner. "What can I do for you?"

"We have intel on some sort of drug deal happening tonight. None of the BPD's sources knows everything about it, but lots of them knew one or two things. Supposedly, it's a big deal. The Whalers, a local gang, is being paid a lot of money to offer protection for the deal. One source even said they were recruiting new members specifically to get more bodies for tonight."

"Any idea where this is happening?" Nightwing had turned to scan other rooftops in the cities. He watched the traffic, hoping to find some sort of suspicious movement from a car he could tail.

"Multiple sources say Avalon Hill, and in such a wealthy district, there are only so many places where a deal could go down." Colleen handed Nightwing a map with three red marks on it, different possible locations for the deal. "I already have three more reports of missing children since last week." The commissioner shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Nightwing, if this is some new drug craze, it could ruin the lives of hundreds of kids. And who knows how many others could be affected by the users who are desperate for a fix."

Dick focused intently on the map, examining the locations marked by Colleen. "It can't be here—near the docks. That's Whalers' territory, and they wouldn't want this to be traced back to them." He scanned over the next two red dots. "Why would they do it here, right behind Hogan's Alley?"

"We're not sure. It doesn't make sense to place a deal so close to a known cop bar." Colleen shook her head. "One of my personal sources said that it could be there—I'm afraid that some crooked cops could be involved."

Nightwing glanced at the Commissioner while he thought for a moment. "I'm not sure about cops being involved, but as for this deal: My gut says no. It's a cop bar, and the city just replaced all of the street lights and security cameras on that block. The Whalers ain't smart, but they're not _that _stupid. Too many eyes."

"So it's gotta be there," the Commissioner snatched the map from Dick and jabbed the third mark on the map with her finger, "behind the St. Michael's Foster Home. Of course—that lot is private property; we can't send officers in there without a warrant."

"Fortunately, I never use a warrant."

Colleen looked up toward Nightwing's voice, but only found an empty rooftop.

* * *

"What is this play called again?"

"Kiss Me Kate. It's not a play, Hank, it's a Musical." Hank glanced up from his menu and saw Liz's narrowed eyes and smirking mouth. "And don't pretend you didn't know that. I've heard it twice before when your phone was set to 'shuffle all'."

Hank finished a sip of water and grinned at his friend (or, whatever she was). "Not sure what you mean. I don't know anything about this theatre stuff." A boldfaced lie.

Jan Granger loved musical theatre. Hank figured she must have been very good at it once upon a time, with her sparkly voice. She had played countless soundtracks for him when they were closing up shop. Hank liked them just fine, but knew Jan loved them, and he liked hearing her sing along.

"Whatever, Duncan. Do you know what you want to eat yet?" Liz took the last bite from the roll that the waiter had placed on her plate a few minutes ago. She was the most gorgeous girl Hank had ever seen, and she never even tried to look good.

They were surrounded by grownups with money for fancy dresses and suits, but Liz outclassed every woman in the room wearing a white top and jeans. Hank sported a similar outfit in his navy blue t-shirt and jeans of his own, but he had a feeling he didn't pull it off quite like Liz did.

_Oh well, that's okay._ Hank smiled to himself.

"Hello, Henry Duncan report to the principal's office." Oops. Staring off into space with a goofy smile was probably not great date etiquette. Was this a date?

"My bad, Liz, I was spacing out. You know, you look really great tonight." Hank quickly tried to take a sip of his water, and managed to choke it down with a small cough. "Not that you don't always look great."

Liz laughed and offered a sweet smile. "Well thank you, Henry. You don't look too bad yourself. Careful with that water, though. We don't want you drowning."

"That would be bad," Hank agreed with a laugh. "Do you even know what these words on the menu mean? Where's the dollar menu?"

"Just order whatever sounds good. Like the show, dinner's on me."

"Mhmm. Because of your _connections_." Hank raised an eyebrow at Liz. He had been to her house many times. Her parents had plenty of money, definitely enough to get tickets to the dinner theatre, but Liz adamantly never asked them for money. "You're being awfully mysterious about those, by the way..."

A flash of movement outside the window on Hank's right caught his attention. Liz followed his eyes.

"What's up Hank?"

"Did you see that?" Hank saw two men dressed in dark clothes sprinting on the sidewalk across the street. "There, those guys in front of the foster home!"

"They're running pretty fast; why are th—"

_POP. POP. _

Hank's eyes went wide as he heard the gunshots. The window exploded, and shattered glass went everywhere. Without his mind registering his actions, Hank knocked the table over and tackled Liz behind it.

"DOWN!"

_POP. POP._

_Shit._

Nightwing sprinted across the rooftop of St. Michael's Foster Home.

_Idiot. _

He had been sloppy, jumping into the lot with a half baked plan and no backup plan. The Whalers and whomever they were protecting had scattered as soon as he started saying the stupid line he thought up on the way down.

He winced as he leapt from the roof onto the street, his shoulder throbbing from the bullet that had grazed it.

_POP. POP._

Dick heard the shattering of glass as he dove to the ground and rolled—taking any more hits from these amateurs would be embarrassing. As he came up from the roll, he scanned the situation, the Heads-Up-Display in his visor highlighting the thugs he saw running sprinting away from him. Five men, three guns.

Nightwing flung an escrima stick forward, hearing a satisfying _thunk_ as the stick connected with the head of the middle thug, then erupted in a burst of crackling electricity. The highlighted guns on his HUD faded to black, disabled by the short-range electromagnetic pulse.

In a split second, the tide had turned in favor of the former boy wonder. Dick sprinted toward the remaining conscious men, who stared at him with wide eyes. As Nightwing got closer, he heard tires squeal to his left, and glanced over just in time to see a flash of black.

"Oomff." Dick was thrown backward by the impact of the large black van, the wind knocked out of him. Four men got out of the van, while one of the thugs Dick had been chasing hopped in before barking orders.

"Go! Go!"

Dick's vision was blurred and his whole body ached. Dark figures _seemed_ to move in closer toward him, but he wasn't entirely sure due to the ringing in his head.

"Liz, stay right here behind this table, okay?" Hank glanced down at his friend, whom he had pinned to the ground behind the table he'd knocked over.

"Not okay at all! We've got to get these people out of here!" Liz sat up, her bright blue eyes flashing wildly with adrenaline. Hank couldn't think fast enough—or was he thinking too fast? A thousand thoughts flew in and out of his mind.

_Got to get out there, and keep Liz out of harm's way. Glass everywhere. Need to find something to hide my face. _

"I have to get help—it's not safe to move—I just don't want you to"

_She smells like cherries. What? Need my jacket. Wow, her face is really close to mine. _

"Liz—please just—" Hank was cut off, his eyes widened. He felt two hands tightly holding his face, and lips pressing against his. Liz pulled away from the kiss, her eyes still flashing.

"Henry." Her voice was confident. "Help me get these people out of here."

Hank's mind had slowed down—like Liz's confidence was spreading to him. "Okay. Let's go. Out the back."

Hank grabbed his brown leather jacket and ushered Liz to crawl toward the back door of the dinner theatre. He listened for more gunshots, but couldn't hear any. He quickly stood up, helping Liz to her feet.

"Everyone move to the back door!" Hank motioned toward the door, and walked briskly, pulling Liz along by her hand. They watched as the crowd filtered out through the door, and Hank glanced behind him at the scene outside the theatre.

He heard tires squealing and an engine revving. A large black van plowed into someone.

_Oh, no._

Hank whirled back around, noticing a display of Sock and Buskin, the masks of comedy and tragedy on the wall. Liz had started through the door and turned around. "Hank, come on!"

With one hand, Hank grabbed the white mask of comedy off the wall. His other hand gently but firmly grasped Liz's chin pulling her in for a kiss.

"Mmff!"

As his lips met hers, Hank took a small step forward, pushing her outside the door. He stepped backward quickly and gave a wry smile as he shut and locked the door, ensuring that she was kept safely away from the danger.

Hank zipped up his jacket and put the plastic white mask on before sprinting out toward the street. He hopped through the broken window, taking in the scene as he emerged into the streetlights. He caught a glimpse of a figure stepping into the black van.

"Go! Go!"

The van sped away, revealing eight men slowly encircling a figure on the ground. None of them realized Hank was racing toward them. Eight dudes was a lot, but he had to do something to help whomever they were surrounding.

Luckily, he had the element of surprise. He positioned himself between two of the thugs, driving his palm into the throat of one and seeing him crumble before spinning around, putting extra force into the elbow he jabbed into another thug's kidney.

_Two down._

Surprise was fading, as the thugs took notice of Hank. He heard a "Hey!" and a "Get him!" as he spun back around once again.

_Shit._

"Whoop!" He exclaimed as he ducked low to the ground and swept another thug's legs out from under him. Hank pushed off the ground as hard as he could with his hands and legs, propelling himself into the air and continuing his twist as his extended leg's heel found the jaw of a fourth thug.

_CRACK!_

Hank winced at the sound, worrying that he may have just broken another human's jaw. He didn't have time to worry long, as the thugs that remained standing closed the distance. Hank started to move, but then the world blurred.

_Whoa._

All his twisting and spinning had caught up to him, and he couldn't move fast enough to avoid a fist connecting with his own jaw.

_CRACK._

Luckily, Hank was still able to roll with the punch to protect his teeth, but the bottom half of his borrowed white comedy mask shattered, leaving only the top of his face covered. As he reeled away from the punch, he felt something wrap around his ankle.

Hank heard a small _snap _and his ankle throbbed as he was pulled to the ground by the thug he had tripped earlier.

_THUNK._

Hank's head connected with the asphalt and the world went dark.

* * *

Nightwing was still having trouble registering the blurred movements he witnessed above him.

A flash of brown, blonde, and blue. _Thud._ Someone hit the ground. The figure whirled around quickly, ducking and springing into the air. _Crack. _Another thug crumpled to the street.

Another _crack._

Dick's whole body still throbbed and fought him, but Nightwing's vision had finally cleared. He pushed himself to his feet, his muscles screaming profanities at him, just as he saw the blonde young man stumble and fall to the asphalt.

_No!_

The kid was down. Four thugs were standing, one was on the ground, getting up. Nightwing sprung into action, quickly kicking the downed thug in the head, careful not to use too much force and seriously injure him.

_Just the four standing, now._

Dick weaved backward away from an incoming punch, then stepped forward, his escrima stick cracking against a thug's forehead.

_Three._

Two thugs charged at him, and Nightwing couldn't help but smirk as he leapt high in the air, using his free hand to push off the shoulder of the thug in front of him.

He heard the loud _crack_ of the two thugs running head first into each other. _Two, one._

Nightwing whirled around to face the final thug, only to find him a hundred feet away down the street. A sigh left his mouth as he shook his head, beginning to run after the man, but then he heard a quiet moan behind him.

_The kid!_

Spinning on his heels, Nightwing glanced at the masked young man. "Aw, come on." He muttered as he slung the blonde teen over his shoulder.


	9. Partners & Proteges Part 9

**Chapter Nine**

Hank's eyes fluttered open. He thought about getting up, but his bed was too comfortable, so he rolled over to get back to sleep.

_Wait._

His bed was not comfortable. It was the cheapest mattress he could find. This was not his bed.

_What the hell?_ Hank sat up and began to look around the room. The stainless steel walls and smooth gray concrete floor were lit by a few computer screens and dim fluorescent lights. The walls were covered in strange devices and—were those weapons?

"I'm not happy with you, Henry." Hank whipped his head toward the voice and saw a familiar young man staring at him. Dark hair, a blue mask, and a dark bodysuit. The blue accents on Nightwing's chest were hidden by his folded arms.

"What—Nightwing?" Hank started to get up, but his ankle buckled under him, and he woozily stumbled forward. "Whoa."

"Chill out there, slugger." Nightwing said as he caught the young man. "You've got a concussion and a tweaked ankle. Probably because you were trying to fight eight guys at once like an idiot."

Memories began fading into focus in Hank's mind. "I… Oh my god, it was you on the ground? What happened?"

"Nothing good. A drug deal of some kind was going down tonight, which admittedly, I screwed up pretty bad." Nightwing helped Hank to sit back down on the cot.

"Guess you're lucky I was there," Hank smiled sheepishly at Nightwing, who's face remained grim. _Why are you like this, Duncan? Why do you poke the bear? _Hank's mind scrambled to change the subject. "Wait, you remember my name?"

"I remember you, Hank. I met you and Jan Granger about four months ago." Nightwing turned and knelt down, opening a mini-fridge. "I remember you being smarter than this, though, Hank."

Nightwing's expression had softened a bit when he turned back around and offered Hank a bag of frozen peas. Hank gingerly put the bag on his ankle.

"I'm just a guy trying to help." Hank did his best to hold eye contact with the white lenses in Nightwing's mask. "Remember that?"

"I do. And I know you're trying to help. In fact, while you were out, I did a little look-see into how much you've been 'helping' lately." Nightwing poked something on his wrist gauntlet, and the screens behind him flared to life. CCTV footage, multiple instances of Hank attempting to stop various robberies, muggings, and assaults.

The screens caused several memories of close calls to flood Hank's mind. He never ended up with anything worse than a fat lip or black eye—well, there was one incident with a bruised rib.

"Look at you, getting your ass kicked. There, there, ooh, ouch, that there must be a bruised rib. Maybe broken." Nightwing's finger flitted the screens, pointing at Hank's crime-fighting debaucles.

"Actually, I won all of those fights, and I stopped those guys from hurting someone else." Hank snapped.

"You made them hurt _you _instead, Hank!" Nightwing's voice was hard and rough, not even close to the warm timbre Hank remembered from their last meeting. "And what if one of these clowns actually knew how to fight?"

"I can do hypotheticals, too. What if I wasn't there tonight? What would have happened to you?"

"Hank, you're not Robin. I'm not Batman, and I'm not looking for a partner." Nightwing paused for a moment, his brow furrowing. "I've already seen too many people get hurt trying to do my job. Two adults were killed, less than a year ago. Full grown adults with years of law enforcement experience, _killed _wearing my costume. I'm not going to teach you. I'm not going to train you or give you a mask."

"I'm not asking you to train me!" Hank felt bile rising in his throat. He didn't like feeling this angry, but he couldn't stop his mouth. "I don't want to be partners. You're not the only one who has deaths weighing on them. And you can't stop me from helping whenever you're not there to."

Hank finished spitting out the words and took a deep breath. He had risen from the cot and was standing only a foot away from Nightwing.

"Look kid, I'm sorry you lost your brother. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help him." Nightwing started.

Hank's eyes widened. Then again, if Batman was the world's greatest detective, it wasn't surprising that Nightwing would know about Tanner. He wiped his eyes quickly and felt Nightwing's hand on his shoulder.

"You need to think of how it felt losing him, and how people in your life would feel if they lost you."

Hank inhaled through his nose deeply. "Okay. Yeah, okay."

"You need a ride home?"

"I can walk."

"You mean, limp? Just let me take you home, Hank." Nightwing's familiar smirk was back on his face.

"Fine."

* * *

"Here's your coffee, Henry." Scott handed Hank the thermos with a smile. "Need anything else? Some ice for that lip?"

Hank chuckled and shook his head. "Thanks, Scott, really. Don't worry about me, I've done this before."

Hank took a swig of coffee. _Ow. Hot_. He tried to forget about the taste buds he burned off as he walked across the living room and took a stand behind the podium. He looked out at the children perched on old sofas and barely-in-tact chairs.

"Hey there, St. Michael's foster kids. I'm Henry Duncan, but you can call me Hank," he smiled, falling into the old routine. He let his mind wander as his mouth recited his spiel on autopilot.

All through this past year, Hank and Scott had been working with the foster homes around Bludhaven, with the end goal of developing a Big Brothers and Big Sisters program. Hank would tell stories to the kids to try and inspire some hope, and to remind them that someone cared about them.

It was tough growing up without parents, and even tougher in the adoption system. Hank had but one memory of his parents. He had just turned three, and his mother left him and his infant brother outside the front door of the Wayne Home For Children in Gotham City.

He and Tanner grew up with only each other and the few friends they made in the various homes they bounced between. Some families had made offers of permanent adoption, but they could only afford to take one of the brothers, and Hank and Tanner refused to be separated.

When Tanner died, Hank's whole world collapsed. He fought everyone who reached out to him, trying to shut out the evil world that had taken his innocent little brother.

"_You don't have to be alone, Hank. You can let people help you." _

Scott's words rung in Hank's ears nearly every day. Scott had somehow fought back against the little demon Hank had become, and given him hope again.

When Scott adopted him and moved him to Bludhaven, Hank embraced the chance to start over. He didn't want to be alone any longer.

Hank blinked and realized he had finished his story to the children, which meant the real challenge was about to begin.

* * *

"Thank you again, Mr. Duncan and Mr. Daniels, for coming."

The words came in a slow southern drawl, but properly pronounced. Old money. The man behind the desk smiled with his mouth, but his eyes didn't look happy. Hank fought the instinct to raise an eyebrow.

"We appreciate the invitation, Mr. Turner," Scott began, "We really think that the foster care community of Bludhaven could benefit from a mentorship program, and we were so happy that you agreed to meet with us and discuss our implementation strategy."

Sometimes Hank thought Scott's smooth talking talents were wasted as a Social Worker. The guy could be the best defense attorney in Jersey.

Hank glanced around the office of Michael Turner. Turner was one of the wealthiest men in Bludhaven, the founder of St. Michael's Foster Home, and a board member of many of the New Jersey state adoption board.

"Of course! The children of Bludhaven need guidance. They need to be shown love." Turner clasped his hands and crossed one leg over the other. "What I was hoping, is that you would allow me to handle the recruitment of volunteers. I already have a long list of candidates."

"Really?" Hank asked, a bit too snappily. _Oops. _"Err, I mean, that's great news. We'll need all the help we can get." Hank turned to Scott. "Is there a way we can run background checks on potential volunteers?"

Scott nodded thoughtfully. "That's a great idea, Henry, especially with the recent reports of missing children in the system, we need to be as careful as possible."

Hank thought about a classmate of his who had gone missing recently. Sophia Stone was not very friendly, but Hank and she had been lab partners their junior year. They bonded over similar lives of slipping through the cracks in the foster care system, never being permanently adopted.

"Background checks can be expensive," Turner mused, "However, I have a few connections in the intelligence industry due to some of my other business ventures—for the safety of the children, I'd be happy to fund any sort of investigations needed for potential volunteers."

"Perfect." Hank forced a smile. Why did this guy give off such Bond villain vibes? "What do you think, Scott?"

"I think we've got a deal." Scott started to get out a manila folder, no doubt full of papers to sign and initial. "For the security of my agency, we'll have to have you sign several waivers, Mr. Turner. I hope it's not too much trouble."

"But of course, Mr. Daniels! I am happy to sign wherever you need, although I may need you to sign a form or two for me, as well." Turner opened a drawer and removed a manila folder of his own. You know how today's world works, we all sign our souls away nearly every day—" Turner's pocket buzzed. "Excuse me, this is a rather important call, I'll have to take this."

Turner strode out of the office, speaking quietly over the phone. Hank couldn't quite make out the words, but the tone seemed aggressive. Scott's voice interrupted Hank's thoughts.

"How was the show last night? And are you going to tell me what happened to your eye?"

Hank grinned at his mentor. "I would be happy to, Scott. Maybe over a cup of coffee at the Union, later today? Oh, wait—I'm sorry, did you already go there today?"

Scott's eyes widened. "I don't know what you mean, Hank."

"Mhmm. Sure." Hank smirked and sipped from his thermos. "For the record, Scott, I'm happy for you and Jan, but I don't get why you two are being so weird about it with me."

"Look, it's sort of complicated, we can talk about it la—" A ringing came from Scott's suit jacket. He hurriedly reached for his pocket, retrieving a phone that was silent, and the ringing continued.

"Other phone, Scott. Lower pocket."

Scott narrowed his eyes at Hank and grabbed his personal phone, bringing it to his ear while he headed out of the room. "Hey, Jan."

Hank laughed as the office door closed. He got up from his chair and wandered over to Turner's desk. He wasn't trying to pry, he just had this thing about reading the terms and conditions. Hank began to thumb through the folder—he wanted to make sure that Scott didn't sign too much power over to Turner.

Hank wasn't terribly familiar with contract law, but the papers in the folder definitely weren't contracts.

_Spreadsheets? This must be the wrong manila folder._

A lot of Hank's status as Salutatorian of Bludhaven North High School—Go Bulldogs!—was due to his ability to speed-read. He had always been able to process and digest information at a faster rate than his peers.

Hank's eyes poured over the numbers he saw, there was a series of names, each accompanied by a date and a figure with a dollar sign. Deep green eyes narrowed when he came across last night's date. June 27 was highlighted in pink, and a small annotation read "rescheduled for June 29". The name beside the date read: "Stone, S."

Hank quickly folded the sheet of paper up, placed it in his shirt pocket, and closed the manila folder. He rushed toward the door, thrusting it open and coming face to face with Michael Turner.

"Mr. Dunan! Going somewhere?"

"Yeah, I just got called in for a shift at the Union, so I gotta go! It was nice to meet you Mr. Turner!" Hank squeezed past Turner, doing his best to keep his breathing even.

"Mr. Duncan." Hank didn't want to freeze, but his body stopped moving anyway. "Forgetting something?"

Hank turned around slowly, and gave a sheepish smile as he took his thermos from Turner's outstretched hand. "Thanks so much, Mr. Turner!"

Hank jogged toward the stairs, shaking his head in disbelief.

_There's no way that just happened._


	10. Partners & Proteges Part 10

**Chapter Ten**

"It's some kind of new drug," Dick Grayson showered a barrage of punches, chops, and kicks on the training dummy in front of him. "Something big enough… To warrant extra protection from the Whalers."

"Hmm." Dick wasn't looking, but he knew that across the cave, Bruce was typing away or reading, doing some sort of research on the Bat-Computer.

"The thing is, they chose a wealthy area for the handoff." Dick continued to wail on the training dummy. "Behind an orphanage. St. Michael's Foster Home."

"Founded by Michael Turner, who is also the CEO of NeoTurn." Batman mused. "They specialize in information systems for military and intelligence organizations."

"You think Turner has something to do with it?" Dick asked, punctuating his question with a kick that snapped the dummy in half. "Oops."

"I think you should look into it." Bruce suggested. Dick slowly began removing the tape from his hands and feet. "Do you know him?"

"Who, Turner? No."

"Not Turner, _him._"

"What are you talking about?" Nightwing questioned as he walked toward the screen. His eyes widened as he saw video footage of the previous night—his own body slumped on the ground while a blonde kid in a brown leather jacket and jeans took out three thugs, each with twenty pounds on him. "Oh."

The former boy wonder pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're keeping tabs on me even when I'm all the way in Bludhaven?" Bruce started to turn toward him, but Dick realized his mistake before his mentor could speak. "I mean, of course you are. You're you."

"Dick." The mix of gravelly Batman voice and rich Bruce Wayne voice Dick was so accustomed to hearing. "Are you doing okay?"

"Of course, I'm fine."

"Would you like my opinion on something?"

"You're going to give it regardless of what I say." Dick rolled his eyes and smiled. The words were a bit harsh, but he said them in a light tone. Batman had been handling Robin's attitude for a long time.

"You're working too hard." Bruce said solemnly. "You've been burning the candle at both ends, trying to make up for the time you missed out on when your memory was missing."

"Bruce, please, I—"

"I'm not finished, Dick." Dick met his mentor's eyes. "I know what it's like. You had your life taken from you, and then you got it back, but it's not the same. I experienced the same thing after the Joker's 'Endgame' incident…

I get feeling lost. It's easy to throw yourself into the mission to try to find yourself. But you're going to get hurt. And I—" A strange sound came from Bruce's throat. Nightwing raised his eyebrows in surprise at the show of emotion. "I don't want to lose you again."

Batman looked down at his hands. Nightwing put his hand on his father's shoulder. "You won't Bruce. I promise."

Bruce coughed, then returned his gaze to the screen. "He looks like he's trained in Krav Maga. His form isn't perfect, but it's almost like it isn't supposed to be. It's very… Street. Perhaps self-taught."

"I met him a few months ago. Four guys tried to mug a woman he was with—I took down three of them, and before I got to the fourth, he had dropped him." Nightwing's mind was taken back to the alley on the side of the Union coffee shop. Hank _had _handled himself pretty well that night.

"I laid into him last night. Told him to stop before he gets hurt. I'm not sure how well he'll listen, but I have to figure out this drug deal situation before I deal with him." Nightwing waited for his mentor's response, but it didn't come. He glanced at Bruce, who was still watching Hank fight on the screen.

"Hmm." If Bruce ever lost his fortune, he could make it back easily with a few hands of poker. No one could read the Batman.

"I don't know what you're thinking, and I don't think I want to know."

"I'm not thinking anything." Bruce's mouth quirked just a tiny bit—the movement was nearly imperceptible. "Just watching this young man save your ass."

* * *

_How long have I been here? Three hours?_

Hank took another sip of coffee and continued his research. The Bludhaven Public Library had public records dating back over a hundred years. Hank was pouring through every scrap of information he could find on local foster homes and missing persons, and cross referencing the dates and times with the activity of NeoTurn, Michael Turner's information systems firm.

_Buzz, buzz, buzz._

Hank absentmindedly picked up the phone. "Hank Duncan."

"Why do you answer the phone like you're forty years old?" giggled the bubbly voice of Kenzie Reed.

"Hey, Kenz," Hank gave himself a moment to take a breath and chuckle. "How are you?"

"I'm great, thank you! Where are you? You've got to come downtown with Will and me!"

"Oh yeah? What's going on downtown?" Hank took another sip of coffee. He hadn't slept since yesterday when he found Turner's insane spreadsheet.

"It's the summer street festival!"

"Oh, hmm. Well that does sound fun, but—" Hank was cut off.

"They are? Oh, that is weird." Kenzie was speaking to someone else. "Will said he figured you'd be here already, because all the local foster homes have tables set up to spread awareness."

"Hmm. I didn't know anything about that. Very weird." Hank muttered. His emerald eyes widened suddenly. _A street fair. The perfect place for a kid to get lost. Especially a kid without parents._

Hank shoved all of his files in his backpack and dashed toward the exit. "Where are you guys, Kenz? I'm on my way!"

* * *

"Gotcha." Nightwing muttered, finally successfully picking the lock of Michael Turner's office in the NeoTurn office complex. Dick glanced around the office, making mental notes to avoid this style of interior design.

_Everyone was given the day off for the street fair, so I'm good to take my time here._

He strode to the computer, plugging in a thumb drive and watching the screen flicker to life. The drive would collect all the information on the hard drive in a matter of seconds, and then Dick could sift through the data easily with a few quick keyword searches.

_It sure pays to know Barbara Gordon, computer genius extraordinaire. _

The thumb drive flashed, indicating its work was done. Nightwing plucked it from the desktop and inserted it into his wrist gauntlet, beaming the data into his mask's HUD. Searching through the terabyte of information was as simple as flitting his eyes from left to right.

_Offshore accounts, interesting. Not terribly surprising, though._ _Several deposits made over the last few months…_

Dick's eyes narrowed as he searched. What was Turner up to? For a crook into drugs, there was no information on his hard drive about any sort of chemical makeup or formulae.

_Email correspondence to the state adoption board, all regarding several missing foster children…_

Dick shifted his tactic. He searched for any sort of construction plans or blueprints.

_A series of tunnels… Additions for the subway system? No, all these tunnels exit at inconvenient street corners. It would be pointless._

Nightwing thought for a moment, tapping his chin. He overlaid a map of Bludhaven's businesses on top of the tunnel map.

_Every tunnel ends right underneath a foster home, and the tunnels converge here... Wait a minute._

"Call Oracle." Barbara would be better at finding a link between all this data, and now Dick had some tunnels to explore.

"Hey Hunk Wonder, how can I help you?" Babs' sweet voice put that dumb grin on Dick's face once again.

"I just sent you a lot of information I, uh… _borrowed_ from Michael Turner. I think he's planning on starting some sort of new drug craze, but I can't put all the pieces together."

Dick rushed through the hallway and pried open the elevator doors to reveal an open elevator shaft. Nightwing grabbed hold of the elevator cable and began a long slide down, grateful for the carbon fiber gloves that protected his hands.

"Hmm. Looks like there are a few extra encrypted files that your thumb drive couldn't handle on it's own… One sec." Dick heard a flurry of keystrokes over his earpiece. "There's some sort of spreadsheet with a bunch of dates and money figures… Oh, these must be names. Maybe last name, first initial."

"Try doing a search for each of those names, maybe they're buyers." Nightwing suggested. He finally reached the bottom of the elevator shaft. Just as he suspected, a panel on the floor opened to reveal a larger room.

Dick dropped through the slot and activated his mask's night vision. Across the room he could make out what seemed to be some sort of fence.

"Oh my god, Dick." Babs's voice radiated shock. "All of these last names and first initials match up perfectly with all of the reported missing foster kids over the past few months."

"Is he using the kids to cook the drugs? Test them?" Dick was confounded. He continued making his way toward the fence—no, not a fence, a row of cages. "Oh, no, it's not a drug craze at all—"

"That's right, Mr. Nightwing." Nightwing whirled around to face the voice behind him, but then his vision went completely white. "Not drugs, but something more valuable. Life."

Dick tried to follow the voice, but the bright lights hitting his night vision filter had temporarily blinded him. He felt something pinch his neck, and his brain went into slow motion before completely shutting down.


	11. Partners & Proteges Part 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"Funnel cake?" Will offered the fried delicacy to Hank, who forced a smile and plucked off a small bite. He dusted the powdered sugar off his hands while doing yet another 360, scanning the crowd around him for any suspicious activity.

Hank was surrounded on all sides by people shuffling around to the various tables, booths, concession stands, and performance stages. Multicolored neon lights shone all around the the street fair. It was beautiful in that obnoxious, in-your-face Bludhaven way—but at the moment, it was all just a distraction for Henry Duncan.

Hank's eyes found a booth for a local foster home, Bludhaven Foster. Underneath the bright blue tent, a dozen children and teenagers mingled with twenty- and thirty-somethings who were looking into the adoption process.

"What are you looking for, Hank?" Kenzie's voice was full of concern.

"What's up?" Hank glanced back at his friend. "Haha, nothing, just a little overstimulated by the festivities."

"Ah, I get it. It's not _what_ he's looking for, but _who._" Will poked Hank in the ribs and pointed toward a huddle of people.

"There she is!" Kenzie's words hit Hank's ears just as the crowd seemed to part and fierce blue eyes hit him like a freight train.

_Yikes._

Elizabeth Carter smiled at the trio of her friends. "Hey Kenz, hey Will." She strode past Hank and embraced Kenzie in a hug. "Hello Henry."

Hank had only known Liz for just over a year, but he quickly figured out that the tiniest, breathy edge in her voice he heard right now was _never_ good to hear.

"Isn't it awesome, Liz? They're giving out so much free stuff!" Will waved a foam finger in Liz's face, thankfully breaking the tension for a moment and causing her to laugh.

"Uh-oh, free cups, ten-o'clock!" Kenzie grabbed Will's hand and pulled, the pair of them laughing as they weaved through the crowd toward another booth. Hank smiled at his friends' laughter, but his smile quickly faded as he realized he was left alone with a very angry Liz Carter.

"Those two are cute, huh?" Liz's voice no longer hid its edge beneath a layer of polite friendliness. Hank attempted to swallow whatever was in his throat and turned Liz's way.

"I could be wrong—but it kind of sounds like you're upset with me." Hank tried his best to channel Scott Daniels' smooth-talking charm, but Liz's blue eyes still flashed with irritation. "Okay, look, come here, I'm sorry."

Hank pulled Liz under the Bludhaven Foster tent and off to the side, trying to find some amount of privacy away from the crowd. "Are you okay? I should have checked in the other ni—"

"Hank! Of course I'm not okay, you idiot!" Her words weren't loud, but they still rung in Hank's ears. "We got shot at! With guns! You locked me outside the dinner theatre with a bunch of strangers, and disappeared!"

"Yeah, I did do that." Hank struggled to meet Liz's eyes. "I'm so sorry, really, Liz. I just—I didn't want you to get hurt, and I… I had to do something."

"_Do something?" _Liz hissed with a tight smile. She was sort of laughing, but still didn't sound happy. "You _did_ do something! You got those people out of harm's way!"

Hank started to open his mouth, but quickly realized it was not yet his turn to speak.

"You didn't want _me_ to get hurt? What about _you_?" Her eyes were still flashing, but her words came out a bit softer. "You have a fat lip, _again._ What the hell did you do? You're not some kind of superhero!"

In his peripheral vision, Hank caught a blur of motion and turned toward it. The backside of a very large man walking briskly away from the fair. The man turned the corner, and Hank's eyes widened as he glimpsed the silhouette of a child holding the large man's hand disappear behind the brick building.

_Thump. SMACK._

Hank doubled over, clutching at his stomach and cheek, both of them stinging and hot.

"I'm talking to you, Hank." Liz's voice was cold. "You could at least look at me."

_A punch, _and _a slap? Really, Liz?_

Hank didn't have time to argue. Alarms were going off inside his head, telling him he needed to find that giant man as fast as possible.

"I'm done talking." Hank muttered, striding past his friend. "I'm sorry, Liz."

The hot feeling in his stomach was growing with each step as he bent forward into a brisk jog. Hank hated leaving things that way between them, but his relationship with Liz was not a priority compared to the safety of the child he saw.

Hank was sprinting by the time he turned around the corner of the old brick building. He realized it was another adoption agency, First Light Foster Home. He had skimmed through an article on the home at the library. It recently underwent renovations, paid for by NeoTurn.

Hank's sprint lead him to the lot behind the brick building. He scanned the area, but the lot appeared to be empty. Hank turned around, stumped.

_Surely that giant man couldn't, like, fly?_

Hank hopped up the porch steps to the back door of the foster home, trying to peer through the windows and get a look inside. Tinted glass prevented him from seeing anything more than shadows. He took a seat on the steps and tried to think.

_If I were an evil kidnapper, where would I go?_

The hot ball in his gut was reaching a boiling point. A low growl of frustration rose from his throat, and he whirled toward the door again, slamming his fist against it. He rubbed his hand gingerly, feeling very far from a high school Salutatorian.

He glared at the concrete porch steps, noticing a dark scuff mark where he had spun on the heel of his tennis shoes. _Oops._

Then, he noticed another, longer scuff mark leading toward a cellar door. An image flashed through Hank's mind of a child being pulled by the large man as she dragged her heels on the ground.

The cellar had an expensive looking lock on it, but the cheap tire iron Hank found next to the cellar door destroyed it easily. Hank mentally thanked Scott for forcing him to play baseball for a few years and walked down the stairs into the cellar.

* * *

Hank's phone was running low on battery, which meant his flashlight was running low on power as well. _Come on, four percent. Please be enough._

He had been walking through the dark tunnel for just under fifteen minutes, doing his best to ignore feelings of claustrophobia.

A sudden loud clang down echoing down the tunnel from in front of Hank caused him to drop his phone. _Shit._ Hank cursed himself mentally, picking up the phone to find no flashlight and a cracked screen. _You gotta be kidding me._

He pushed his irritation at his phone situation into the same compartment of his mind as the rest of his anger, the anger that motivated him— the thought of an innocent child suffering because of some rich maniac.

Hank blinked, unsure if he was hallucinating. Was that a dim white light? The end of the tunnel? He couldn't tell how far away it was in the darkness, but Hank sprinted toward the light. As he approached, his whole body coursed with adrenaline. The light started to take shape, a large rectangular gap in the right wall of the tunnel.

Hank stopped short of the doorway, peering around the corner. The dim light was from a long buzzing fluorescent tube on the ceiling, barely illuminating the large octagonal room that the doorway led to.

The walls were lined with cages, Hank estimated five-by-five feet in area, maybe seven feet tall. Some cages were stacked on top of each other, three cells high. Each cage had two or three small silhouettes slumped in its corners.

_The missing kids. It has to be them._

Hank began to rush into the room, but another loud clang stopped him short. He dashed back behind the doorway, watching as two men walked into the room. They looked familiar—_Of course._ One of the figures was hulking, maybe as tall as the cages. The large man from the fair.

"Put him in that cell, there, Raymond."

Hank's eyes widened at the slow, southern drawl of Michael Turner. Hank shook his head and smacked his forehead mentally. All signs were pointing the Bond villain rich guy, but Hank figured there would be some sort of shocking twist.

_Nope. Of course it's this guy. _

Then, as the larger man, Raymond, lurched over and opened the nearest cell door, Hank kicked himself for wishing for a shocking twist. Raymond was carrying a body over his enormous shoulder, and as he tossed it into the cage and closed the door, there was just enough light in the room for Hank to see a bright blue bird on the figure's torso.

_Nightwing._

A moment of silence was interrupted by a buzzing that echoed through the cavernous room. "Yes, we've taken care of the interruption. You're welcome to come in."

As Turner drawled on, Hank unzipped his backpack as quietly as possible, putting on his brown jacket and glancing at the remains of the white mask of comedy he had taken from the theatre. At least his eyes and nose would be obscured, maybe? He tied the thin string tightly behind his head and took a deep breath.

Another loud clang echoed through the room, and a young woman sauntered over to Turner and Raymond with a pair of large men—not as large as Raymond, but still plenty physically intimidating—following behind her.

"I'm not thrilled that your security force has decreased in size, Mr. Turner. I felt safer at our last meeting with that small army you brought to watch over us." The woman's tone was all business. Hank clambered onto the empty cell nearest to him and dropped flat against its roof.

"I assure you, Ms. O'Hare, this is a very secure location. And I felt that all of the extra help I secured for the other night drew too much attention to us." Turner shook the woman's hand and turned toward the row of cages behind him. "I wanted to ensure that our business tonight was without interruption. I felt simply terrible about the other night, so I have decided to alter our agreement in your favor. A 'buy-one-get-one-free' deal, if you will. Feel free to browse all you'd like."

Hank felt like throwing up. It wasn't a drug business, and it wasn't just kidnapping. It was human trafficking. O'Hare and Turner walked slowly toward the opposite end of the room so the woman could examine the children in cells.

"We keep them sedated, but I promise you that no harm comes to the children, and they are well nourished…" Turner's voice ground against Hank's ears.

A soft groan to his left startled Hank, and he whipped his head around only to see Nightwing starting to stir in his cell. Hank quickly dashed across the top of the cages, thankful that he didn't have to think about the unconscious children inside noticing him.

Hank leapt to the roof of Nightwing's cell, a plan beginning to come together in his head. It wasn't a great plan. It wasn't really even a good plan. But there was no stopping now.


	12. Partners & Proteges Part 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"Hey."

Dick's head snapped forward, his vision obscured by white splotches.

"Wha—"

"_Shhh!"_

Dick turned slowly, taking in his surroundings. Steel bars. Some sort of cage. His eyes widened when he saw a face, upside down and half covered in a white mask, poking out from the roof of the cage.

_Oh god, no._

"Hank?" Dick whispered with fury.

"First—Ix-nay on the Ank-hay." Hank Duncan was applying a lot of effort to make his whispered words sound confident. "Second, we've got to stop these guys—and also the gal."

Nightwing began to stand up and scold the young man hanging off the roof of his cell, but he was still dizzy from whatever had knocked him out. He felt sluggish. He turned his head again, slowly, and saw five figures, three men, one woman, and what looked to be one giant. He tried to shake his head free from the dizziness and white splotches.

"I can't—" Nightwing started, "I need a little time."

"Okay, but you only get a little." Hank smiled wryly. "I have a terrible plan. I'm gonna go get the keys to your cell, okay? Then you help me take down that large gentleman."

Dick wanted to argue, but he had to repress his urge to vomit, and Hank was already gone.

"You know what the hardest part of this superhero stuff is?" Hank's voice was full of bravado as he leapt to the floor. He held a small tire iron in his left hand. The figures across the room spun around. Dick recognized Michael Turner's face and narrowed his eyes.

Two of the men across the room quickly whipped pistols out of their jackets, but Turner grasped at their shoulders. "You can't shoot guns in here! You might damage the children!"

Hank continued his speech, tossing the tire iron casually between his hands as he strode across the room. "A lot of people probably think it's the costume. Like, are all superheroes just really good at _knitting?_"

The two guards ran at Hank. "More realistic thinker would probably say the actual super-hero-ing is the hardest part. Putting your body on the line."

They had a few pounds on him, but Dick could tell by the way they moved that they were a bit too reliant on their guns. "Okay, wait, don't get me wrong—_whoop_!" Hank sidestepped around a punch and smashed his tire iron into the lower back of one guard. "I don't want to come off presumptuous." The man made a weak grunt and crumpled to the ground.

Hank twisted his body, attempting to kick the second guard in the chest, but the guard caught his ankle and yanked Hank off balance. The tire iron flew out of Hank's hand, but he caught himself before hitting the ground. "I—phew—I don't necessarily consider myself a _super_-hero. I'm just a guy, you know?"

Hank sprung off the ground and delivered a hard palm-strike to the guard's stomach, and caught him in a headlock as he doubled over. "But I have the mask and everything, and since Turner over there is like straight out of a comic book, I figure I should at least give myself a superhero name."

"Raymond…" Turner's voice was cold, and the giant—who must have been Raymond—began walking slowly toward Hank. Nightwing felt a pang of fear for the young man attempting to rescue him, and he pulled himself to a standing position using the cell bars. His head was clearer as he watched Hank continue his tirade.

"I'm still… Ugh… Workshopping it…" Hank struggled to keep his hold over the larger man, who was flailing his arms. "But what do you guys think of 'Kite'?" The guard dropped to his knees, his brain robbed of oxygen, and passed out. Raymond sped up his approach toward Hank, and Nightwing's eyes widened.

"Kite!" Hank turned around just in time to see the giant man swinging a giant fist toward him. Dick instinctively threw two wingdings, weaving them in between the bars of his cells and watching them bury themselves into Raymond's shoulder.

The impact of the projectiles caused Raymond to grunt and lose balance, barreling forward and clumsily tackling Hank to the ground. In a stroke of luck, the pair landed right next to Hank's tire iron.

"To be clear—" Hank grasped for the tool and swung it up hard, connecting with Raymond's bald head. "I mean like the bird of prey, not the children's toy."

Raymond clutched at his head, and 'Kite' was able to wriggle free from under the hulking man. Hank got up and took another swing at Raymond with the tire iron, but the giant caught the iron and ripped it out of Hank's hands.

Raymond picked Hank up as though he weighed nothing, and threw him toward Nightwing's cell. Dick winced at the _clang_ that erupted when the young man hit the cell bars. Hank slumped to the ground and rolled himself over with a great amount of effort, turning to face Nightwing.

"Here you go, boss." Kite weakly reached out his hand and dropped a ring of keys just outside of Dick's cell. The former boy wonder smirked, quickly grabbing the keys and unlocking himself.

"Well, lucky me. First try." Nightwing narrowed his eyes at the hulking man. "Raymond, you know you shouldn't play so rough with boys who are smaller than you."

Raymond's eyes widened and he flinched, covering his face as the ring of keys hurled by Nightwing sliced through the air. When Raymond brought his arms down, Dick was already on him. An escrima stick jabbed into the giant's stomach, then another crashed into his jaw.

Nightwing leapt over Raymond, somersaulting into a landing behind the enormous man. He kicked his foot backwards into the back of Raymond's knee, toppling him. Raymond caught himself on one knee, growling as he whirled around—only to feel a blunt jab into his throat, and then fifty-thousand volts course through his body.

The beast had been slain, but the night wasn't over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Turner sidling against the wall, trying to sneak out of one of the tunnels connected to the room. Nightwing smirked.

"Kid, catch!" Hank barely caught the wingding Nightwing had thrown his way, bobbling it in his gloved hands. "Go get him."

Hank took off toward Turner, who bolted through the opening in the wall. Unlike the last tunnel, this one was well lit, giving Hank the perfect opportunity to take aim at the fleeing criminal. He took a deep breath, twisting the small, boomerang-like object in his left hand.

He flung his arm forward, and watched the wingding sail through the air, just to the right of Turner's head. Hank groaned and started to run after Turner again, but suddenly a dark blur whizzed past his left ear.

_Thunk-thunk-CRACK! _Nightwing's escrima stick ricocheted off the wall, then the floor, before finding the back of Turner's knee, causing the man to come tumbling to the ground.

Hank turned around to see Nightwing walking casually toward him. "I guess I need some more practice with the boomerang-things."

"Wingdings, kid." Nightwing smiled and put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "So, 'Kite', huh?"

"It's a work in progress—it's kind of stupid, I know—"

"No, I like it. Besides, 'Robin' is kind of a stupid name, too."

* * *

"Home, sweet home." The door to Henry Duncan's studio apartment swung open, and Hank didn't even bother turning a light on. He knew where everything was. His crappy bed, his small dresser full of clothes, his one lamp, his chair and desk that he got from the dumpster, and his record player, a Christmas gift from Jan.

Hank unzipped his jacket and threw it at tossed it toward his dresser before collapsing on his bed. It wasn't comfortable, but he was so exhausted that it felt like heaven just to lay down. He began to drift off to sleep, when he heard the loud _buzz_ of plastic against wood.

He sat up, dumbfounded. His phone was in his pocket, and it was broken, anyway. Hank saw a dim light flash across the room on his desk. The buzzing continued, and more sound erupted from the light.

"_He flies through the air with the greatest of ease…"_

"What the hell?" Hank walked toward his desk.

"_The daring young man on the flying trapeze!"_

It was a ringtone. A phone screen lay on Hank's desk, lit up by the words:

_Incoming Call From: NW_

Hank hesitantly picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey man! You up?" Hank could not believe the cheerful voice he heard from the phone's speaker.

"What is happening?"

"I'll tell you, but let's do it in person. See you on the roof in two minutes!"

* * *

Hank emerged from the stairwell with the phone in his hand, and took in the sight of his apartment building's roof. _Of course._

"This place is kind of a dump, dude." Pearly white teeth flashed in the darkness through Nightwing's smirk. "No offense."

"None taken, I guess." Hank walked forward toward the older young man. "Uh, so, what's up?"

"First: business." Nightwing took a serious tone. "Turner, Raymond, and those other two goons are safely locked away in the Bludhaven PD Lockup. It should be easy to put the lowlifes away for a long time with the help of the dozens of witnesses they were keeping in cages. The kids are all recovering in the hospital. They're going to be just fine, and then returned to their foster homes."

Nightwing nodded to himself. "And, second, well, Hank, I wanted to say thanks for your help tonight." Hank's eyes widened. He figured he was in for another lecture.

"Uh, no prob—"

"I'm not done, Hank." Nightwing wagged his finger at the blonde young man. "I haven't been myself the past few months… I've been lost, and careless. Off my game. If it weren't for you acting incredibly stupid, especially for such a bright kid—I might have gotten hurt, or killed."

Nightwing paused for a moment, lost in thought. "You know, there's CCTV footage of you fighting those guys a few nights ago. I checked the tape, and, well, you got your ass kicked. And then, I gave you a lecture. But despite all that, you kept on fighting and trying to do the right thing."

"You probably knew this already, but I was raised by Batman. It was weird, and very hard, but also cool, and even fun, sometimes. I know that I can't stop you from trying to help people. And I know that you said you didn't want me to train you. But a while back, Batman told me…" Nightwing paused again, and cleared his throat. "He told me I saved him. Helped him find his way when he was lost."

Nightwing coughed again, loudly. "So, Henry, I wanted to ask you something. I think I could use a little help. Someone to keep me honest—keep me on the ball. Kind of like a partner. And, since I've been doing this crime-fighting thing for quite a while, maybe that partner might pick up a few tips and tricks along the way… Would you be interested in that, Henry?"

Hank's brain was broken. Was this really happening? Was this the moment that the chance meeting between he and Nightwing months ago had been leading up to?

Hank was hit by a wave of reality. If he accepted this, he was no longer hiding behind vague words of "trying to help". He was fighting crime. Doing superhero stuff, for real. His mind flashed back to Tanner's story of Batman and Robin. How much time had passed since Nightwing asked him the question?

Hank opened his mouth to speak, but Nightwing beat him to it. "What's that?" The masked man put his finger to his ear. "Oh, perfect. Thank you, Alfie. Send it in."

The drone was silent, and fast. If Hank blinked, he would have missed it flying overhead and dropping a small black briefcase down into Nightwing's hands.

"This is just a little something to sweeten the offer. Oh, you get the phone, too. I think it has doodle jump on it." Nightwing clicked the lock on the briefcase, popping it open, and handed it to Hank.

Inside was a domino mask, like the one Nightwing wore, but white, and flecked with brown and blue, almost like the plumage of a bird. The sides of the mask curved up like wings.

"The armor is like mine, light, but tough."

Hank noticed the neatly folded bodysuit underneath the mask. It was a dark brown, like the feathers of a hawk, with white accents that matched the pattern of the mask. On the breastplate of the armor, the navy blue silhouette of a bird. If Hank had to guess, it was Milvus migrans, a Kite.

"This is so cool." The words were soft, under Hank's breath.

"I had a small hand in the design, but Alfie is the master. I guess you don't know who that is. Anyway, what do you say?" Hank's head tilted up and he matched Nightwing's smirk with one of his own.

"Just two guys, trying to help, huh? I'm in."

"Great." Nightwing grinned and extended his arm for a handshake. "But one more thing—I heard from a source inside the Wayne Foundation that you received a full ride scholarship to take classes part time at Bludhaven Community College in the fall."

"What? I didn't even apply there." Hank was confused. He hadn't enrolled in any of the colleges he and Scott looked at. He was planning on continuing to work for Jan while trying to figure out what he wanted to do.

"I understand that your studies are _very _important to you, and you'll _have _to put school first when we're working together." Nightwing's tone had shifted. Hank had adopted a similar tone before when instructing his younger brother.

"This… This is part of the deal, huh?" Hank sighed. "I… Yeah, that's right—my _studies._"

"Perfect. Then we're in agreement." Nightwing wiggled his gloved fingers, and Hank firmly accepted the handshake. "Now put that on and let's get started."

Hank's jaw dropped. "Right now? I mean—okay—it's just, I'm really tired, and kind of still recovering from Raymond, an—"

"Hank, chill out. I'm joking." Nightwing's smile lit up the whole rooftop. "You can get some sleep. We can start tomorrow morning when you come to the gym."

"When I—what?"

"Just go ahead and let yourself in, you still have the key I gave you, right?" Nightwing was already striding away, and before Hank could ask another question, he had leapt off the roof and disappeared into the night air.

"The key I gave you…" Hank muttered to himself, turning around. His head was still swimming—what was Nightwing talking about? Hank shut the briefcase and started back toward the door to the stairwell, but was interrupted by a buzzing in his pocket.

He pulled his new phone out and scanned over the screen. '_See you tomorrow morning, Kite!' _Hank rubbed his eyes before rereading the text message. The contact name at the top of the screen read: '_Dick Grayson'._

"You've gotta be kidding me."

**End of Book 1**

**Hello. **

**I am writing this story purely for fun, and am very much enjoying myself with it so far. I'm sort of modeling it after the structure of a comic book series, so I'll just be writing multiple arcs (or books) of Dick and Hank's different adventures all within this story. **

**I happened to write all of these chapters on my own time before I ever published the story, so that's why this is my first author's note. Thanks for reading.**


	13. Family Values Part 1

**Bludhaven: City of Birds**

**Book 2: Summer Vacation**

**Chapter 13**

"Easy, there, pal. Nobody's gotta get hurt as long as you cooperate."

Jake Walters swallowed, taking care to hold the eye contact of the man in the ski mask across the counter from him. Long before he was promoted to manager of Haven Credit Union, he was trained on how to handle this situation.

Jake knew exactly what to do when a gun or knife was drawn on him by someone desperate enough to rob a bank: Cooperate. There were multiple binders full of insurance policies in place to protect the money of investors and customers.

Whether the robbery took place during the busiest time of the day, or just after the HCU had closed down for the evening, like right now, the credit union's employees were not to risk their lives in some silly attempt to be a hero.

Whatever money was lost in the event of a robbery could be replaced. "_But our people cannot." _The words of the HCU's founder, George Carter, rang in his ears. George was a good man. He took care to learn the names of every employee of the small Credit Union.

"What do you want me to do?" Jake asked, raising his hands slowly above his head.

"You're going to take us to the vault, open it, and keep real quiet and still while we take the money and leave." The black-masked man spoke calmly, keeping his firearm trained on Jake. The three other masked men behind the speaking man routinely swiveled around, switching their sights between Jake and the doors and windows of the building.

"Okay." Jake began walking slowly toward the vault, keeping his hands raised until he arrived at the large metal door. The security system was two-fold, it required an authorized fingerprint scan, and then a six-digit pin code entry. "I'm just going to unlock the vault."

Jake maintained an even tone while he pressed his thumb to the small black pad, then slowly entered the pin number. He took a deep breath, reassuring himself that everything would be over soon. A loud _hiss_ was heard as the vault door unlocked and began to swing open.

"Jeez, it's about time. I was running out of things to spy with my little eye in here." Jake's eyes widened in disbelief. HCU policy stated that the vault was to hold $300,000 in cash, nothing more at one time, as the rest of the funds that the union managed would be kept off site in a more secure facility.

But right now, in addition to the $300,000, there were two young men inside the vault. The one that spoke, the darked haired young man clad in black, leaned casually against a stack of sealed bills. The other man, sandy-haired and dressed in brown, stood straight for just a moment, then became a blur of motion.

"_Oof!_" Jake felt the air in his lungs exit his body forcefully as he hit the ground, tackled by the brown and blonde blur. The pair a few feet across the tile floor, out of the reach of the quartet of masked men.

"Sorry," Hank Duncan said quickly before springing off the ground and whirling toward the masked thug nearest to him. The two thugs in back were turning slowly toward Hank, still caught off guard by the entrance of he and Nightwing.

Right on cue, a black blob whistled through the air, connecting with the backside of the thug closest to Hank.

_Thunk_—_bzzt!_

The impacted thug stumbled forward with a grunt, while a small surge of electricity erupted from Nightwing's escrima stick, disabling the weapons of the robbers with a small electromagnetic pulse.

"Guns are down, Kite." Hank returned his mentor's smirk, feeling built up tension leave his neck and shoulders. With the guns out of the picture, the bank employee was out of harm's way.

"I still can't believe people really try to rob banks anymore." Hank called to Nightwing as he charged toward his two thugs, both of the men still clicking their triggers uselessly. "Like, isn't most 'money' just numbers on a phone or computer screen?"

"A bank heist is a classic crime, grasshopper!" Nightwing had already knocked out the lead robber with a kick to the torso and moved onto his next target. He quickly jabbed the second masked man in the face and grabbed hold of his arm, gracefully whirling around and bending it behind his back. "It's simple, sound logic. You need money? Go to the bank! Just, you know, these guys aren't making a personal withdrawal."

"Hmm. If you say so." Hank pondered Dick's words, tuning out the groans from the thug attached to the arm Nightwing was twisting. The sandy haired young man landed two quick blows on abdomen of the thug in front of him, then dropped to the floor as he heard the _whoosh_ of air behind him.

Kite glanced upward as he twisted his body around on the ground, catching the site of one thug being pistol-whipped by another. The whipped thug crumpled to the floor, and the other stumbled as he tripped over Hank's leg sliding across the tile.

As Hank's thug toppled forward, Dick shoved the masked man he was holding into the falling thug's path. The two collided with a loud _CONK_ before dropping woozily to the floor.

Jake Walters stood up slowly and looked between the two young men. The shock from all of the commotion had far from worn off. "I—thank you. So much."

"No problem, sir." Nightwing offered a confident smile, striding toward the building's exit.

"You might want to call the police," Hank offered, jogging lightly to reach the side of his mentor.

"No, it's okay, Oracle says they're on their way." Nightwing clapped his young partner on the back.

"Ah, well, nevertheless." Hank smiled at the gesture from Dick and glanced back over his shoulder. "Have a nice night!"

* * *

"I'm really not sure this is a good idea, Dick." Dick spun around in his computer chair and faced his friend—or, whatever she was to him right now—with a raised eyebrow.

Of all the Bat-family, Barbara Gordon was his most frequent visitor. Partially so they could see each other, but Dick knew her visits were also partially to check up on him.

"You'll have to be more specific, Babs. You say that about a lot of my ideas." Dick turned back to the computer screen and tried to find where he'd left off in his reading.

"Do you mean my idea about my own Batcave built on top of a skyscraper in Bludhaven? The thing about rigging the tables in all the corrupt casinos to put them out of business? Introducing Hank to the family?"

"Look, I know what Bruce did for you, helping you catch Zucco after he murdered _your _parents." Dick felt a gentle hand fall onto his shoulder. "But Hank's parents are a whole different story. I get that you're trying to give him closure, but—"

Dick turned again, taking Barbara's hand in his own. "Barbara. You're right. It started out that way—I mean trying to help Hank find his parents. But the thing is, the more I search, the less I understand." Dick paused, running a hand through his dark hair. "Something's off about the whole thing."

"Do you think there's something wrong? I mean, could there be something Hank hasn't told you about?" Barbara's eyes showed no signs of suspicion, only curiosity and concern.

"No—I mean, I don't know." The former boy wonder shook his head and sighed. "I trust, Hank, of course. The other day he apologized to me for taking a bottle of water without asking. But Babs, you and I were both taught by Batman. We _know _how to find people." Nightwing's brow furrowed. "So I can't help but feel like someone doesn't _want_ anyone to find Rodger and Mary Duncan."

* * *

"You're off balance. You have to stop leaning onto your back foot so much." Dick swished the combat knife through the air toward his pupil. Hank quickly backed out of the way, then thrusted his own knife forward.

Dick grabbed Hank's wrist firmly and twisted, forcing him to drop the knife. Nightwing pressed his blade forcefully against the sandy-haired young man's neck, watching his deep green eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in annoyance.

"Dead again." Hank muttered.

"Maybe captured and taken hostage, you never know!" Dick smirked as he lightly tapped the side of Hank's face with the knife. _Thunk, thunk. _The blades' edges were dulled for safety, but in the middle of sparring, they felt real enough. "Do you understand what I'm saying, though? If you're always on your back foot, you won't be able to switch to offense when you need to."

"Yeah, I think I'm getting it." Hank roughly grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. "I'm thankful that I get to fight _with _you and not _against _you."

Nightwing let out two short laughs. "Man, if I had a nickel. Unfortunately, buddy, you never know. These days, there's lots of ways to get brainwashed. Telepaths, electroshock conditioning, nanobots, techno organic viruses—we live in a nightmare world."

"Good grief." Hank chuckled with cynicism.

"Yeah it's rough. And honestly, sometimes these superhero types don't even need to be brainwashed to fight each other. They've got super-egos—convinced that whatever they're doing is right, and anyone who disagrees is wrong." Nightwing grabbed a bottle of water and tossed it toward Hank, who snatched it out of the air. "How are Jan and Scott?"

"They're great. I love seeing them both so happy. It's funny that they were so nervous about telling me." Hank sipped the water, carefully screwing the cap back on. "I guess they didn't want me to be worried or upset by it, but I had been trying to get them to meet for such a long time. It's like my dad and mom are finally dating each other."

Dick and Hank both laughed at the goofiness of the phrase. The former boy wonder's clear blue eyes met his young partner's. "Henry, you know if you need a break from any of this, all you have to do is ask."

"I'm fine, Dick, really. I'm busy, sure, but everything I'm doing makes me feel like I'm really making an impact. It feels really, really good." Dick felt the corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a full blown smile. For the most part, Henry Duncan had coped fabulously with the difficult hand he was dealt in life.

To most people, Hank appeared friendly, confident, happy—a bright young man with a lot of potential and on his way to figuring out his life. It was only after Dick asked Hank to be his partner that the former boy wonder had begun to notice the face beneath the mask Hank Duncan wore in front of the general public.

Living a life without parents and losing his younger brother had turned Hank into a permanent older sibling, determined to never display any vulnerability or burden other people by needing their help. Dick realized quickly that part of Hank's kind smile was almost always tinged with sadness. But every once in a while, Nightwing would see a flash of real, pure, innocent joy in his seventeen-year-old protoge's face.

"I'm happy you feel happy, Hank." Dick reached out and placed a firm hand on Hank's shoulder. "I'm just saying, sometimes it's important to have a little time to yourself. Helping people feels great, but being selfish once in a blue moon isn't really being _selfish_, it's just being human."

Hank's grin toward his mentor was filled with mischief. "I'm being selfish right now. I just tricked you into letting me catch my breath so I can kick your ass this time." The sandy haired young man picked up his combat knife and strode away from Dick before turning around to motion Nightwing toward him. "Come get some."

Richard Grayson threw his head back in a laugh and picked up his own combat knife. "Your trash-talk has improved, young grasshopper. But do not forget whose dojo you are in."

* * *

"Good morning, Henry." As usual, Hank smiled at Jan Granger's twinkling voice, and the firm hug she wrapped him in.

"Careful not to behave like this when customers are in the store, Jan." Hank laughed with the woman who had become the closest thing he had to a mother. He repelled the urge to wince at the hug—normally a hug from Jan could make his whole week, but over the past month, Hank's body was always sore.

At five in the morning, he worked out with Nightwing—Dick Grayson, who, up until last month, was just a friendly gym owner who had given Hank a spare key. Then he'd hit the books, soaking up everything he could about chemistry, psychology, philosophy, criminology, or whatever surprise subject of the day Dick sprung on him.

If he wasn't hitting the books, he was working a shift at the Union, Jan's coffee shop/grocery store, or working on developing a community youth mentorship program with his former social worker and technical legal guardian Scott Daniels.

And that was just the day shift. When the night fell, 'Kite' would don his domino mask and body armor to patrol the streets of Bludhaven with Nightwing until the wee hours of the morning. The sleep he got came from whatever naps he could squeeze into his schedule.

_Ding-ding!_

The bell attached to the door of the Union rung, signaling the arrival of patrons. Jan turned to Hank with a warm smile. "I have to finish inventory, can you handle our guests?"

Exhausted. Sore. No sign of a break coming anytime soon. But how could Hank not do everything he could to help out someone like Jan Granger.

"Of course, Jan, anything for you." Hank rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grabbed a mug off the rack, filling it with the day's first fresh brew. It was a good thing he worked in a coffee shop.

* * *

"Well if it isn't the prince of Port's Park." Hank dropped the plate he was washing, barely catching it before it hit the base of the sink. He knew the owner of the voice that startled him, and made sure to keep his composure as he shifted his gaze toward the long wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes of Elizabeth Carter. "You're not going to drop the plate again, are you Henry?"

Hearing Liz giggle at him caused a few of the knots in Hank's stomach to untangle. "Hi Liz—I'll certainly try my best not to." Even when he hadn't seen her in a month, and even when the last time he had seen her had been on less than stellar terms, he couldn't help but smile like an idiot when he looked at Liz Carter. "Can I get anything for you?"

"Hmm… Not yet, let me check the menu for a sec." There was no sign of the tension Hank felt the last time he and Liz spoke, but he couldn't help feeling a little on edge.

Hank and Liz's close friendship had become a more complicated relationship, which was even further complicated by Hank's part-time vigilante ambitions. Now that he was doing the mask thing full-time, he couldn't be sure what came next for he and Liz.

"Liz!" Jan's sparkling voice rang through the store as she embraced Liz from behind in a hug. "It's so good to see you! How is your summer? Are you getting ready for NYU? Please, order whatever you'd like—do not even think about charging her, Henry."

Hank smiled as Liz let out a light laugh—it was Jan's nature to pelt people with questions about their lives like this. She cared so much, almost aggressively so. "I have an orientation visit in two weeks, and I've been in contact with my roommate, who seems wonderful. She has light brown hair like yours—but not as pretty of course."

A warmth spread through Hank's chest. Since he began working with Dick, he had discovered a new sense of purpose, feeling full of positive energy at all times even when he was physically exhausted. But this moment right here felt _normal._ Jan, Liz, and himself laughing and talking about life. He had missed this.

"Really, the only bad thing about summer is that I haven't seen Henry at all." The warmth in Hank's chest spread to his face. The sweet smile on Liz's face was incongruent with the mischievous flash of her blue eyes. "But obviously he's spending his time well if he's working here, and with how busy the Union has gotten, you must need his help."

"Oh, please. I'm just about sick of him. He just never stops with the '_Let me take out the trash for you, Jan', _and '_I'll wash dishes again, Jan.'_" Jan winked a green eye at Hank—or was it directed toward Liz? Or both? "How about I give you the day off tomorrow, Henry, and you and Liz can catch up?"

Liz squeezed Jan's hand and smiled brightly at Hank. "Oh, that would be perfect, because my dad has two tickets to the Bloodhounds game tomorrow! Thank you so much, Jan!"

Hank blinked twice. _What the hell just happened? _He shook off his confusion and grinned back at Liz and Jan. "I can't wait."

_Guess I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth._


	14. Family Values Part 2

**Family Values **

**Chapter 2**

"Knock knock." Dick Grayson returned the smile of Scott Daniels as he walked into the social worker's office.

"Richard, come in, please!" Scott swept a few folders to the side of his desk, standing up to shake Dick's hand. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"I'll give you three guesses."

"Did Henry break something in your gym again?" Dick laughed, images of all of the equipment he and Hank had destroyed together over the past month. Dick hadn't known Scott long, but the glowing recommendation from Hank held a lot of weight in Dicks' eyes.

Plus, he had done his own homework. Scott Daniels had graduated from Hudson University with honors a few years before Dick attended school there. While he studied pre-law at Hudson, Scott was an all-american pitcher, known for a devastating left-handed slider.

One day, Dick would ask Scott what drew him to social work after graduation, when he had a full-ride scholarship to Northwestern's Law School, not to mention that he had been in talks with numerous minor league teams. But today was not that day.

"Hank hasn't broken anything recently, no." Dick chuckled softly. "But I did want to ask you a few questions about him—or more specifically about his parents. Rodger and Mary Duncan."

"Been looking into them, huh?" Scott exhaled slowly. "When I first took on Hank's case, I spent two days scrounging through public records for those names. And I only came up with two mentions."

Dick nodded. "A story about a young couple in Gotham saving three Wayne Industries Factory employees from a fire." Nightwing placed a folder on Scott's desk, opening it to reveal two newspaper clippings.

"And their obituaries." Scott briefly scanned over the contents of the folder before meeting Dick's eyes. "If you're worried about Hank seeing this, these articles are old news to him. He and his younger brother attended the funeral when he was eight."

"Mhmm. A parent should never have to bury their child, and a child shouldn't have to bury their parents before becoming an adult." Dick paused for a moment, unsure if he should share what he was thinking with Scott. "Well, Scott. You and I are both Hudson U alumni."

"Go Tigers."

"Go Tigers." Dick returned Scott's small smirk. "In college, I studied criminology. Obviously, life lead me down a different path, since now I own a gym. But every once in a while, I get an itch, you know?"

"So, just as a hobby, I've been looking into some things. Recently, a series of factory fires all around the country."

"That's pretty grim." Scott frowned.

"You'd think so, but no one has gotten hurt in the fires, and they all have an unknown origin. Plus, each fire has lead to a successful class action lawsuit against the factory owners, and the workers have been well-compensated due to an unsafe work environment." Dick carefully scanned Scott's eyes for a reaction.

"You almost make it sound like a good thing." Scott absentmindedly scratched the stubble on his chin. "If I were part of the class-action, it would be easy to paint this sort of incident as the result of irresponsible industry moguls who need to be taught a lesson about treating laborers correctly."

"Exactly." Dick retrieved another folder from his bag, setting it on Scott's desk, but not opening it. "Which is just the case that was made about the factory fire that Rodger and Mary Duncan saved three Wayne Industries employees from."

Scott narrowed his eyes and began to open the folder. Dick continued, "I'm not really sure what I'm getting myself into, here Scott. Personally, I'm not going to mention it to Hank unless I have more concrete evidence, and a clearer understanding of what's going on."

"I obviously can't stop you from telling Hank, and I would completely understand if you did. I'm sure you know this already, but he thinks of you like a father—you know, like a cool, young father. But anyway, I just thought you might be curious, too, so I thought I'd share this with you."

Scott decided not to open the folder and shifted his eyes up toward the younger man. "Dick, thank you for letting me know about this." Dick was beginning to stand up and zip up his bag. "And I don't think I ever properly thanked you, but Henry told me you were a big part of his decision to take classes at BCC this fall. I really appreciate whatever you said to him."

Dick gave a genuine smile before heading toward the door. "He's gonna be just fine, Scott. He's a smart kid."

* * *

"I feel like an idiot." Nightwing frowned at the words of his young partner, lowering the binoculars from his eyes and turning toward Hank.

"Why does going on a date make you an idiot? A _free_ date, Ha—Kite."

"Well if we look at things practically, I'm seventeen years old. Too young to be going on dates." Hank furrowed his brow at his mentor's laughter. "Okay, that's not what I meant. I meant, you know, I'm a kid. Liz and I are both kids. And neither of us are the 'marry our high school sweetheart' type of kid."

"Do you think anyone who goes on a second date is thinking about whether the date will lead to marriage?" Nightwing had raised the binoculars back up to his eyes, examining the figures that were moving in to the empty lot across the street from the rooftop he and Hank were perched on.

"I'm just saying, there's no way this relationship goes anywhere. She's going off to NYU in two months. I'm staying here." Out of the corner of his eye, Dick caught Hank adjusting his mask. "Also, it isn't a date."

Nightwing raised an eyebrow at his sandy-haired companion. "One: it definitely is a date. Two: it's okay to go on dates. Even if you might not marry the person. Three: it's time to go."

Dick tapped his wrist gauntlet to signal the police. Hank nodded and followed Dick's lead as they both fired their grapple guns through the night air and swung down toward the formerly empty lot.

Commissioner Colleen Edwards had informed Nightwing of a hostage trade between two mob families of Bludhaven: the Cecil's and the Keye's. Since both groups were essentially admitting to kidnapping by setting up the trade, it was a great opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

Dick landed first, using his swing's momentum to take out the leader of the Cecil's with a kick to the head, and briefly glancing over to check on Hank before going to work on the rest of the crew. Kite was handling himself just fine, making good use of the escrima sticks Dick had been training him with.

_Whap, crack, bonk!_

"Okay, so I get that it's okay to go on dates." Dick smirked as he heard his partner's voice call out over the grunts and groans of the crumpling thugs. Learning to hold casual conversation while punching out bad guys was a rite of passage for crime fighters. "But the one date we went on got very messed up by me ditching her to do vigilante stuff, and that was back when I was just a part-timer!"

"You're worried that she'll figure out who you are?" Dick flung a bola at a man who was trying to run away, mentally patting himself on the back as the projectile wrapped around his legs and tripped him.

"Not really, I'm just saying the odds are extra against me when it comes to this relationship."

"It sounds to me like you really like this girl, and you're worried that exploring what that means could end up with you getting hurt." Nightwing threw another glance over his shoulder at Hank, who downed a new recruit of the Keye family with a solid left hook.

"Thanks for your diagnosis, Doctor Nightwing." Kite hurled an escrima stick toward a thug who was approaching him. _Clunk._ The stick connected, but glanced off the man's shoulder, evoking a groan from each party. The thug's groan of pain, and Hank's groan of annoyance. He still had some work to do with his aim. "You want me to play psychologist with you and Batgirl?"

Hank punctuated the question with a solid kick to the thug's chest. "What are you talking about?" Dick was caught off guard by his protoge's remark, nearly being hit by a clumsy punch from the last thug still standing.

"I'm talking about the Batgirl uniform I had to move off of your couch the other night when I crashed there." Nightwing spun around to face a smirking Kite after knocking out the thug.

Dick exhaled an exasperated sigh, gesturing for Kite to follow him as he saw the flashing red and blue lights of the Bludhaven PD. Just when Hank thought he had left his mentor speechless, Dick flashed him a confident grin. "Maybe you should ask Batgirl about it? You'll have lots of time tomorrow night during your private lesson."

Hank's eyes widened behind his mask. "Private lesson?"

* * *

"So do I have to call you Day-Wing? Afternoon-Wing?" Jason Todd's words caused the corners of Dick's mouth to turn up into a half smile.

"You know, for the edgy, rebellious, opposite-of-Dick-Grayson-Robin, you sure do make a lot of the same jokes I do." Dick shielded his eyes against the sunlight. The Red Hood joked about the strangeness of donning their costumes before the sun had set, but he had a point. This was a little weird.

"I must be losing my touch. Although, I never really understood that reputation all the way—" Jason was cut off by sirens, indicating it was time to move. The pair silently dropped down from their rooftop perch just as a fire engine rushed out of the garage of Metropolis Fire Station 12.

Before the garage door could close, the ex-Robins slipped into the empty firehouse. Jason removed his helmet and continued. "People remember your Robin as the Golden Boy, but _you_ set the precedent for disobeying Batman."

"I'm pretty sure people remember me as the handsome Robin." Nightwing smirked as he held the stairwell door open for his brother. He didn't want to make a habit of taking bullets to the head, but at least his near-death experience, amnesia, and the return of his memory had made the whole Bat-family closer. "By the way, good work figuring this out—Bludhaven has had plenty of problems with crooked cops, but I'd have never suspected a fire department to be corrupt."

Jason shrugged as he walked briskly up the stairs. "In Metropolis, the big guy takes care of so many fires, Fire Station 12 was going to be shut down. Since there's been an uptick in fires while Supes is off-planet, I got suspicious. Sure enough, Captain Cross has been meeting up with arsonists."

The duo reached the door to the Captain's office, and Red Hood swiftly picked the lock with just a flick of his wrist. The door swung open, and they both began scanning the room.

"I've been meaning to ask, since when are you and Superman so close? I didn't realize he had asked you to watch over Metropolis while he's away." Dick searched through a file cabinet but found nothing of interest.

"Uh, he didn't. He asked Supergirl."

"Uh huh... And you're here, too." Nightwing didn't bother looking over his shoulder at his brother. He could imagine Jason's narrowed eyes and set jaw just fine.

"Well, look at that, I think I found something!" Dick chuckled to himself. Leave it to the Red Hood to conveniently find a piece of evidence just as the subject of his personal life comes up.

Jason held a poker face as he handed a sheet of paper to Dick. "There was a folder full of factory blueprints, all with dates on them. This one's got today's date on it."

"The LexCorp factory in Hell's Gate." Dick muttered.

"Not surprising that Luthor's involved in this somehow." Jason grabbed the sheet of paper and returned it to its folder.

"Actually, I think he might be a victim, sort of." Dick handed Jason his red helmet. "Come on, we've got work to do."

* * *

_Yep, I'm an idiot._ Hank caught himself staring at Liz for the fourth time since they'd entered the Bloodhounds' park. It wasn't like he disliked baseball, but the sport ran a little slow for his tastes. He'd usually get distracted before he finished watching a whole game.

Today, Henry was extra distracted, but to be fair he was with a person who was, frankly, very distracting. Liz looked beautiful on any day, but on a sunny day like today, with nothing blocking the light for reaching her face aside from the baseball cap she wore on her head, she looked incredible.

She must have been spending a lot of time in the sun, because a small spray of freckles had developed across the bridge of her nose and under her bright blue eyes. "You're missing the game, Duncan."

Hank's head snapped back toward the field. "Woo! Go Bloodhounds!" He shouted extra enthusiastically.

"Not that I'm not flattered." Liz laughed lightly. Her laughter spread to Hank, who turned toward her with a big smile. Before he had time to think about it, his mouth and tongue were moving involuntarily.

"I'm so sorry, Liz." It wasn't a planned apology, but as the words blurted from his mouth, he realized he had wanted to say them. "For that night at the dinner theatre, and then when we talked at the street fair—" Henry was cut off by more laughter from Liz.

"You mean when I punched you at the street fair?" Hank felt a hand cover the back of his own. "Hank, you don't have to apologize. You don't have to sweat dumb stuff like that with me, right? We're too close for that."

"_Hi, Henry, right? I'm Liz Carter." Hank shook hands with the blonde young woman, trying not to think too hard about how pretty her smile was or whether or not his palms were sweaty. "Welcome to Bludhaven North." _

"_Nice to meet you. And, uh, thanks. Sorry you had to come into the school before summer vacation is over." Hank glanced around the empty commons area they stood in. The school year wouldn't start for another week, but Scott had set up a tour for him with the class president, who was much more attractive than Hank had imagined._

"_Don't worry about it! It's part of the Presidential gig." Liz said with a wink, striding forward toward the exit doors of the building. "I try to keep as busy as possible, anyway. Volleyball, Student Council, Photography Club… The less time I have to think, the better."_

"_Right. That's smart. Thinking sucks." Hank followed, curious about the tour route Liz seemed to be leading him on. "Uh, by the way_—"

"_I know I'm supposed to take you on a tour of all your classes, but honestly, that's a waste of time." Liz pushed the exit doors open, revealing sunlight and the warm summer air. The pair stepped out onto a manicured lawn with criss crossing sidewalks. _

"_The school's layout is easy." Liz continued. "Science and math classes are in that building, english and social sciences are over there, the building we just left has administrative offices, the cafeteria, and all of the athletic facilities. And then every other class outside of a core curriculum is in that building right there." _

"_Huh. Easy enough." Hank appreciated the efficiency. "Well, uh, thanks for the tour."_

"_Hmm. You know, a friend of mine joked about you being a drug dealer since you're from Gotham, but you're way too polite for that." Hank's eyes widened for just a moment, but a glance at Liz's face told him she was teasing._

"_What, I'm not cool enough to sell drugs?"_

"_I'll be honest, I don't think there are any drug dealers out there named Henry. Come on." Hank found himself following Liz's confident stride again, the pair headed down a street decorated on both sides with tall buildings and colorful signs._

"_Well, some people call me Hank. So there." Hank quickened his pace to walk in step with Liz, who threw her head back in a laugh._

"_Is that what your friends call you?" Liz's bright blue eyes flashed. Hank found himself intimidated and welcomed by them at the same time._

"_Not cool enough to have friends, sadly." Hank put his hands in his pockets and gave his head an exaggerated shake. "Uh, where are we going, by the way?"_

"_It's my job to make you feel welcome to Bludhaven, Hank." Liz gestured to the buildings surrounding them. "So let's go make you some friends."_

Hank blinked himself back into the present. "Yes, definitely too close for that, Liz." His smile returned, and he suddenly felt less strange about looking into Liz's bright blue eyes.

His first friend in Bludhaven. When Hank was with Elizabeth Carter, he didn't have time to think. There was no time for his several years worth of trauma and baggage—with Liz, he could just feel like a normal person.

Hank decided to make use of his ability to avoid thinking while he was with Liz, reaching over to her to adjust the brim of her navy blue Bloodhounds cap. "Your eyes are very blue, just FYI. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"It's hard to think of a guy who hasn't told me that." Liz chuckled.

"Okay, but you punched me _and _slapped me, so just give me this, okay?" Out of the corner of his eye, Hank noticed an elderly couple pecking each other on the stadium's jumbotron—the "kiss cam".

"No, we agreed we were too close for that stuff to matter." Liz readjusted the cap, her eyes flashing. A camera woman was scanning the section of seats where Liz and Hank sat, no doubt looking for a shot to display on the jumbotron.

"Oh, right. I suppose we must be awfully close, since you kissed me." Hank felt his lips quirk into a smile, nodded toward the giant screen.

"Oh, that wasn't a kiss." A mischievous smirk had formed on the young woman's face. "I had to calm you down so you would stop stammering like an idiot."

"Hmm. Felt an awful lot like a kiss." The camera swung toward their row.

"If I ever kiss you, Hank, you'll know." Hank glanced over at Liz's eyes, which were fixed on the large screen. Hank turned his attention toward the jumbotron, which displayed a pair of young, professionally dressed women. One of them knelt down and opened a box containing a ring, and the two embraced.

Hank looked down their row to see the proposal in real time, only 6 seats away from them, then flashed a grin at Liz. "I guess I'll just have to take your word for it."


	15. Family Values Part 3

**Family Values**

**Chapter Three**

Nightwing glanced at the time on his mask's HUD. _8:50 pm_. The blueprint that Red Hood found in Captain Cross's office had been labeled today's date, July 10, 9:03 pm. Being that they were raised by the world's greatest detective, Dick and Jason could only assume that the LexCorp factory before their eyes would catch fire in a matter of minutes.

"Time to go, 'Wing." Dick nodded to his brother, following Jason as he silently moved out of the shadows and toward the side of the factory building. The pair made climbing the building look like a rehearsed acrobatics routine, taking turns boosting and swinging each other as they scaled the factory.

Upon reaching the roof, Jason picked the lock to a ventilation hatch, and Dick took point, dropping down into the shadowy building. As Red Hood joined him on the catwalk high above the factory floor, Nightwing scanned their surroundings.

The only source of light were the dim safety lights spaced evenly around the factory floor. For a pair of young men who had spent much of their lives in darkness, it was plenty bright.

"HUD readout doesn't show any activity," Jason quietly stated. "I know this factory produces circuit boards for military tech, but if we find any kryptonite or anything, I call dibs."

Nightwing restrained his chuckle to a small smile. "It's all yours, buddy. Okay, let's sweep the place systematically. Top-down, you take the east side, I'll take the west, and we'll meet in the middle."

Dick caught a small nod from his brother's red helmet, and the two went to work. Dick began his search at the wall of the factory, meticulously examining each piece of machinery and the area around it. The clock in his mask's display read _9:02 pm._ He tapped the side of his mask, switching between its filters to scan for heat signatures, radiation, and chemical irregularity.

_Nothing._ Nightwing frowned as he approached his brother. "It's 9:04 pm. Do you think we read the blueprint wrong?" Red Hood questioned as he knelt down to adjust his boot.

"I don't know. It could be a number of things. I figured there would be some sort of explosive set to go off at that time, but maybe people were coming to actually start the fire themselves? They could have seen us and called it off." Dick pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a sigh.

He had gotten ahead of himself, thinking that tonight would answer some of his questions about Henry's parents. "I should have focused on one thing at a time. Okay, maybe we go back to the fi—"

Dick cut himself off as he and Jason each tensed up due to the creaking sound they heard beneath them.

"Got a feeling that's not just a faulty air conditioner," Red Hood muttered. Before Dick could respond, large explosion erupted behind him, knocking him off balance and evoking a ringing in his ears.

Lights began flashing, and the loud whir of a fire alarm filled the air of the factory. A pillar of flame had sprung where the explosion had taken place, hungry fire pulling itself toward the factory equipment. Nightwing and Red Hood were already on the move.

Dick reached toward his belt to retrieve his fire suppressant capsules, but a strong arm yanked him backward. "No time, Nightwing!" The former boy wonder grimaced at Jason's words, knowing his brother was correct. Dick sprinted after Jason, who quickly pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket, firing two shots at the handles of the double doors in front of them.

With the locks blasted away, the pair of ex-robins stormed through the doors before whirling around to force them shut again, trying to prevent a backdraft from feeding the fire.

_How did we miss this? _Dick asked himself as he took a moment to catch his breath. His mind conjured an image of the blueprint they found at the fire station. They had accounted for every entrance to the building.

"Nightwing, look." Dick followed Jason's pointed finger to a large metal grate in the cement below them. Though they were almost imperceptible, the display in Dick's mask revealed small embers and smoke particles rising from the grate. "There's an abandoned subway tunnel below the factory. They must have set armed the explosive there."

Dick nodded, placing his hand against the grate and tapping a finger to his wrist. His glove sent a series of ultralow frequency vibrations into the ground below. Dick's idea for the tech was based on echolocation, and though it was far from perfected, Bruce had been impressed enough to develop a prototype for him.

"There's someone moving fast down there. Maybe on a motorcycle." Dick quickly pressed another button on his gauntlet, glancing over to see Jason doing the same. Two sleek motorcycles piloted themselves toward the brothers, one back and blue, the other black and red.

"The tunnel exits onto the main road at 50th Street and Parker." Dick could hear the smile in Jason's voice. The Red Hood loved a good chase scene. "I'll go low, you go high."

Dick nodded as the pair straddled their individual bikes. Red Hood threw a small capsule at the metal grate, releasing an acid which quickly devoured a hole large enough for his bike. With a rev of their engines, Dick shot toward the city streets, and Jason plummeted down into the tunnel.

It wasn't long before Jason caught sight of a dark figure racing ahead of him in the tunnel. Whatever motorcycle the arsonist was riding, it wasn't built by Batman, nor was it tricked out by the Red Hood.

The ex-robin sped up to match the pace of the motorcyclist. Riding side-by-side allowed Jason to get a better look at the fleeing criminal. A dark helmet obscured any facial features, but Red Hod could tell by the smaller frame that the biker was a woman.

"Hey. Good on you for wearing a helmet." Red Hood called out to the woman. "Safety first, and all that, you know, when you're blowing up factories."

Jason pumped his breaks to avoid being side-swiped, and once again found himself behind the fleeing woman. "Okay. Be like that, then." Jason's eyes narrowed as the pair of motorists approached a multicolored lights of Metropolis just outside the end of the tunnel.

He drew his second pistol from the holster in his jacket, firing a round of rubber bullets at the woman's tires. Though she was a skilled rider, the bike quickly swerved out of her control, falling onto the ground on its side.

The bike and its owner skidded across the ground and into the light, slowing to a stop just before coming into contact with a black and blue clad figure. Before the woman could free herself from under the bike, an escrima stick was inches from her chest, crackling with electricity.

"I got her!" Jason called to Nightwing as he arrived at a more controlled stop. Dick couldn't help but laugh at his brother's enthusiasm.

* * *

Hank sat up on the couch and rubbed his eyes, hoping to rehydrate them after staring at his laptop screen for the past three hours. Liz had invited him to have dinner at her family's brownstone, but as soon as the game ended, a text message appeared on his phone's screen.

"_Emailed you some reading material. Be sure to go over it before 'class' tonight. Should take a few hours. _—_BG"_

Dick told Hank to keep his eyes open for a message from Batgirl, but the text still took him by surprise. He wasn't sure exactly what kind of message was expecting. Would a messenger bat deliver him a scroll? Would he have to decipher some code or squirt lemon juice on invisible ink? Maybe a message written in the sky on a spotlight?

Nope. Just a text message. A text message which required him to turn down what was sure to be a lovely home cooked meal by Liz's father George, and instead head back to Dick's loft in the back of Grayson's gym. On the upside, he got to use the laptop Dick had gifted him for the first time.

Hank gulped down the rest of his water and looked back at his 'homework'. Psychological profiles on several members of the Vonn family, phone records, expense reports from the many businesses that Lane Vonn, the head of the family had a stake in, and a handful of case files from various criminal trials involving the Vonn family.

"Hello?" He was so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the backdoor of the loft opening, and a young redheaded woman poking her head through the doorway.

"Uh, hi?" Hank quickly closed his laptop and rose from the couch.

"Ah, you must be Kite." _What?!_ Hank felt his eyebrows rise at alarming speed, but before he could start his first well-crafted lie, the woman laughed and spoke again. "Sorry, haha, didn't mean to scare you. I'm Batgirl. Barbara Gordon."

Hank exhaled a long breath to try and rid his system of adrenaline, then cleared his throat to approach Barbara. "Wow. Uh, well, I'm Henry Duncan. Or, Kite. But I guess since you already knew that, you can call me Hank."

Barbara chuckled again, her green eyes twinkling with humor as she gave him a firm handshake. "Really, sorry, it _mostly_ wasn't on purpose. Hmm. Blonde hair and green eyes on a Robin? This is certainly breaking from tradition. I like it."

Hank raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure how to respond to the comments on his appearance, nor to being called 'a Robin'.

"Sorry, I know you're not 'a Robin'." Barbara seemed to read his mind. "That's, like, another inside joke. Dick speaks highly of you. He said you're a quick study, which is why I didn't feel bad about sending you all that info kind of late notice."

Hank was beginning to think he might just keep his eyebrows permanently raised for the rest of the night. "Really? That's… nice of him. He's been a great teacher, so far."

Barbara's head tilted back in a laugh. "He's good, for sure. But trust me, I know he can be a lot." Hank returned the grin of Batgirl, starting to feel more at ease. "I've put a lot of forethought into our… class, for tonight. I know Dick doesn't always do very much _forethought._"

A chuckle arose from Hank's throat at the teasing of his mentor. "Well, I just completed the assigned reading, so I'm ready."

"Great! Get your school uniform on. Class starts in 10 minutes on the roof."

* * *

Hank had already learned a lot from Batgirl. As he followed her across Bludhaven's rooftops, he noticed she moved differently than Nightwing. She moved more efficiently, conserving her energy by choosing optimal paths and using her grapple more often, swinging rather than running and leaping.

"Nightwing described you as more talkative than this." Batgirl's words caused Hank to flash a sheepish smile. He had quickly become more comfortable with Barbara Gordon after an unusual first impression, but for some reason, seeing her as Batgirl had caused him to feel shyness again.

"I, uhh, didn't know if talking was allowed during class." He smiled at Batgirl's laughter as they both swung over a traffic-filled Stark Avenue.

"Talking is allowed starting now. You'll have to talk if you're going to tell me our plan." The pair landed gracefully on the neon-lit roof of the Spitfire Casino.

"What?" Hank's eyes widened behind his mask.

"The plan, Kite. Where are we going?" Batgirl had stopped running and looked expectantly at Hank. He took a breath and tried to picture the reading he had done earlier in the evening.

"Ok. Well, according to the texts in the phone records, the Vonn family is trying to make some sort of purchase tonight at midnight. Franky Vonn is representing them, trading a hostage for… something."

Hank slowly talked himself through the data he had consumed, feeling more confident as he recalled more information. "Two weeks ago, the family purchased the top floor of the Archer Storage Warehouse, which I think would make a pretty good spot for the deal to go down."

Batgirl's mouth turned upward into a smirk. "Not bad, Detective Kite."

Hank took the lead as they clambered and swung for three more blocks before arriving on the rooftop of the warehouse. Batgirl picked the lock of the small skylight and held it open for Hank as he silently dropped down.

Barbara signaled Hank to move on top of a stack of storage containers, providing a bird's-eye-view of the warehouse floor.

"The trade should start in five minutes." Batgirl's voice was a whisper. She pointed across the large room to three men standing about ten feet away from an elevator door. Each man wore a three-piece suit, blue, gray, and navy pinstripe.

Hank recognized the one in the pinstripe suited man in the middle as Franklin "Franky" Vonn. There was a blindfolded young woman standing next behind the suits with her hands tied behind her back. _The hostage._

"Before, walk me through what we know about Franky Vonn."

Hank took a breath, giving himself time to recall. "Franklin Vonn. Six-foot-one, and 185 pounds. He won the New Jersey State Wrestling Title twice in high school. He's 27, 28 in a month. He just recently stepped into a role as third in command of the family. He took the job from his older brother Ed, who was recently checked into a rehab facility in Gotham due to a cocaine problem."

"Good. What does all that tell us about the deal tonight?"

"Uh… Franky is inexperienced. Up until two weeks ago, he took orders from his father, and wasn't a decision-maker like he is now. Which is probably why he brought along extra help for this trade, even though they can guarantee that the seller will be alone since they own the warehouse." Hank glanced toward Barbara for a response.

"Close," Batgirl nodded, "Franky being new to the job means he has something to _prove. _He wants to show the Vonn family that he's capable as a leader. Look at his body language. He's checked his watch twice in the past minute, and he's tapping his foot."

"He's nervous." Hank raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Even though he has all the power in this deal. He has the hostage, home field advantage in the warehouse, and he has plenty of backup. So why the anxiety?"

"_Now_ you're asking the right questions, Detective." Batgirl shot Hank a grin, filling him with a feeling of reassurance. "He's nervous because he's going to try to have his cake and eat it, too. My gut says his plan is to acquire whatever it is that he's buying, but continue to keep the hostage."

A soft _ding_ was heard as the elevator doors split open to reveal two more hefty, overdressed men, and a smaller gentleman with a head full of bright white hair. The white-haired man walked with a cane in one hand, and a small black briefcase in the other.

"What's the plan?" Hank whispered quickly. "We beat them up and call the police?"

Batgirl gave a quiet laugh. "Close, again, Kite. _First_, we figure out what Vonn is so keen to get his hands on, _then _we beat these guys up and alert Bludhaven's finest to the location of a kidnapping victim."

Hank nodded as Barbara continued. "That's the main lesson tonight. Nightwing is a big improvisor, so I wanted to teach you about the importance of doing your homework before jumping in. Being prepared never hurts, and if you really want to make the world a better place by punching and kicking people, you'd better make sure you know the right people to punch, and why they need punching."

Hank began to think carefully about his substitute teacher's words, but his thoughts were interrupted by a swift hand gesture from Batgirl, signaling him to pay attention to the goings on below them.

"I need to know if she's okay, before I show you the necklace." The elderly man's voice was soft, but full of firm confidence. Franky laughed loudly, and Hank frowned. _Even this guy's laugh is greasy. _

"I ought to remind you that you ain't in charge here, Anton." Franky looked down at the smaller man in front of him. "But I'm a forgiving guy, so I'll let that slide. I'll even meet your demands, since I'm feeling so generous. Eric—ungag her."

The blue suited man, Eric, roughly removed the gag from the woman's mouth. The woman's voice was scratchy, but confident like the elderly man's. "I'm okay, Grandpa."

"Oh thank god. You're coming home tonight, Jenny." Anton began to slowly open the briefcase, revealing an elegant silver necklace, detailed with clear blue sapphires. Franky quickly snatched the case from Anton, giving it a thorough examination.

He carefully lifted the necklace from the case, observing it in the light of the warehouse. "You know, Anton, this necklace belonged to my great-grandmother. She passed it down to her son, Franklin, my grandfather, the man I'm named after, to give to a woman he loved...

Franklin met a woman, Scarlet, and right when he met her, he knew: the necklace was for her. He gave her the necklace, and she wore it on their wedding day. The same day that she left him at the altar, running away with another man. A man named Anton."

Franky chuckled darkly to himself. "Well, listen to me, yapping on like a yutz. You already know the story, don't you, Anton?"

"The necklace is yours, Franky. Please release Jenny and we're done here." Anton's voice still held its confidence, Hank heard a small shake in it.

"Hmm. You know I've seen a few pictures of Grandpa Frank and Scarlet, and I gotta say, Jenny here is the spitting image of her grandmother." Franky held the necklace tightly in one hand, reaching into his pinstriped jacket with the other. "But anyway, you're right, Anton. We _are _done here."

Franky drew a handgun from his jacket and pointed it toward the older man, and Hank was moving before he even heard Batgirl signal him with a '_Move!'_

The wingding slashed through the air and clattered against Franky's wrist, causing him to grunt in pain and surprise, and drop the gun on the floor. Kite smirked with pride at his successful throw of the wingding, landing behind Franky and kicking the back of his knee to cause him to double over.

Hank caught Franky in a headlock as the man stumbled. Out of the corner of his eye, Hank saw Batgirl, a blur of purple, black and yellow, spinning, leaping, kicking, and no doubt making the pack of large, overdressed men feel very emasculated.

"Sorry fellas—well, actually—now that I think about it, I'm not sorry." Barbara had learned long ago that being a superhero was not a game, but she couldn't help talking smack on dumb mobsters. She knocked the blue suit, Eric, out with a hard kick to his chest, then whirled around to drive her elbow into the ribs of the gray suit.

Hank fended off a man in a black suit by kicking out hard with one leg, but realized his mistake immediately, as he lost his hold on Franky. _Duh. State champion wrestler. Use your head, Duncan. _

Hank didn't have time to beat himself up, as he suddenly found himself pinned to the ground by a very angry Franky. "Who the hell are you people?" The larger man growled as he forced his forearm into Hank's windpipe.

"I'm… a tailor…" Hank grunted, struggling to keep the weight off his throat. "Your suit… terrible."

Hank felt himself running out of oxygen. He was vaguely aware of the scene around him, but it was fuzzy. He heard sounds of carbon-fiber-reinforced gloves and boots connecting with bones.

Kite glared into the brown eyes of his large assailant feeling very miffed that this mook was going to knock him out. He glimpsed a shadow as it dropped from above onto Franky's back with a soft thud. Hank was suddenly able to breathe again, as Franky rolled off of him, pinstriped arms reaching for his own throat.

Hank rolled himself over, coughing, and saw a lithe figure cloaked in a dark brown and green tunic snatch the silver necklace from the ground next to Franky. The necklace suddenly disappeared into the figure's cloak, and the shadow soundlessly dashed away, climbing up the pile of shipping containers that Batgirl and Kite had been perched on previously.

"Kite!" Hank pushed himself off the ground and whirled to face Batgirl, who was continuing to beat on the two grunts that were still conscious.

"The necklace!" Hank coughed out, still a bit woozy from lack of oxygen.

"You're fast, right? Go. I'm fine." Barbara threw an encouraging smirk Hank's way as she crumpled the black suit with a lightning-fast punch to his stomach.

Hank stopped thinking and began to run. Nothing to think about except for catching up. He bounded up the shipping containers and saw the silhouette of the thief exit the warehouse through the skylight.

Hank used his grapple to close the distance, as he emerged onto the roof, the thief glanced back at him before leaping over the edge of the building.

"No!" Hank sprinted to the urban precipice, exhaling a sigh of relief when he saw them sliding down a zipline that was attached to the side of the building. _No, not 'them'. Her._ In the neon lighting of the city, Hank realized that the slender figure was a woman.

She looked like she had gotten her outfit at a renaissance fair, her body covered in a lightweight brown leather tunic, her head covered by a dark green hood. Hank shook his head. _Less fashion-judgement, more thief-catching._

Kite brandished an escrima stick and slipped it over the top of the zipline, gripping it tightly with both hands as he leapt from the warehouse roof and slid down the line. He couldn't help but smirk as he flew down the zipline. No one said he couldn't have a little fun during class.

The woman reached the end of the zipline, releasing the hook she'd been holding onto and landing gently on the roof of a small office complex before breaking into a sprint again. Hank attempted to imitate her landing, but came down a bit harder than he expected.

The brown and blue clad vigilante grunted as tucked his body tightly and rolled along the rooftop. He did his best to fluidy push himself up out of the roll and begin his run again. The thief he chased was quick, but Hank was closing the distance, mentally thanking the city planner responsible for placing the buildings he traversed over so close together.

The young woman took a hard right turn after landing on the roof of the Phillips Convention Center, dashing along the top of the skyway that connected to the Cambridge Hotel across the street. Hank saw his chance, recalling the way Batgirl moved through the night air, and fired his grapple across the street, using the throttle to pull himself toward the Hotel roof.

"Hey Game of Thrones!" Hank called as he swung around the corner of the building and landed in the thief's path. "Not sure if you heard back in the warehouse, but that necklace belongs to some grandma. And you don't really look like a grandma."

Thanks to the hood and the mask covering the bottom of her face, the only expression Hank could see as a reaction to his banter was a narrowing of the thief's eyes. Hank took a mental note of the small black pouch attached to the thief's hip.

Kite hurled a wingding at the young woman and sprinted toward her. The thief evaded the projectile with a graceful handspring—but Hank had only thrown it as a distraction as he approached her. "Wow, have you considered doing gymnastics or something instead of kleptomania?"

Hank extended his arm to strike the thief's thigh with his palm, but she deflected it with her forearm, twisting her body to roll over Hank's back and land on the other side of him.

The young vigilante's eyes widened as two quick jabs to the torso knocked him off balance. As he fell, he scissored his legs around the woman's calf, taking her down with him. The thief fell on top of him, and in the moment they were face to face Hank glimpsed a fierce pair of pale gray eyes, shining like the silver of the necklace that she had taken.

"Hey there." Hank smirked at the young woman, whose silvery eyes flashed as she pushed herself up off his chest. "Don't take this personally, or anything. I'm Kite. It's my job to, you know, not let people steal stuff."

"You're funny." The woman's voice was only slightly muffled by her facemask. Hank started to sit up, maintaining his smirk.

"Thanks. Hey, I think we should tell people we met on a dating app, like instead of wearing masks on the roof of a hotel."

Just as she began to back away, she stopped and her eyes widened, her hand shooting to her hip. Hank pushed himself off the ground, flashing a wider smile as he raised the small black pouch in the air with his left hand. The thief's eyes narrowed again. "And you're annoying."

She dashed toward him, but Hank felt more comfortable on the defensive in this situation. He didn't have to worry about her running away as long as he kept the necklace away from her. "Annoying but kind of charming, right? Oh come on, don't be like this. You haven't even told me your name!"

He sidestepped a jab and blocked a right hook, then countered with a strike toward the thief's collarbone.

His palm connected as she was beginning to launch a kick toward him, causing Hank's strike to hit higher than he planned, on the woman's chin rather than her collarbone. The thief recoiled, and Hank froze.

The strike had knocked both her hood and her facemask off, revealing long light brown hair tucked into a low ponytail, and a face Hank hadn't seen since he was 13 years old. _Aubrey? _

Hank's mind was swimming as the young woman rubbed her mouth, revealed to be curled into a smirk as her hand pulled away. Hank distractedly struck at her as she charged him, but she caught him by his wrist and flipped over his back once more, sweeping his legs out from under him this time.

Suddenly, Hank was staring up into silver eyes again. "Annoying." She said triumphantly. Hank's brain still refused to connect to the rest of his body. The girl smelled like cinnamon. "But also cute."

Soft lips pressed against Hank's, which did _not_ help his brain-body-coordination. He felt a hand cradle the back of his head, twisting his hair around slightly. A gentle pinch of his bottom lip between her teeth, and then a less gentle pinch in the side of his neck.

The pain snapped Hank out of his daze. "Hey!" He managed to grunt the word out, and tried to sit up, but his brain felt even slower than before. A blurry image of the young woman rising to her feet and putting her hood back on was the last thing he saw before blackness.


	16. Family Values Part 4

**Family Values**

**Chapter Four**

"The tests came back. He's fine, just knocked out. Probably will be until tomorrow, if it was the same stuff that Franky Vonn got." Nightwing breathed a sigh of relief. Hank was okay, despite Barbara finding him unconscious on a rooftop half an hour ago. "He'll probably beat himself up for losing the thief, but we stopped an old man from being murdered in front of his granddaughter, so at least we have that. How did things go in Metropolis?"

"Pretty much perfectly. Jay and I caught the little arsonist, and the residue left on her gloves and clothes directly connects her to the factory fire. Jason's… uh... talking to her now."

"Do you need to go be the good cop?" Batgirl's voice had a hint of urgency.

"In a sec, yeah. How'd Hank do? What did you think?" Dick glanced over his shoulder, getting a look at the scene of Red Hood standing with his arms crossed next to the arsonist, who was hanging upside down from a girder.

"Kite's still got a lot of learning to do, but you're right. He's got a lot of potential. He reminds me of you, but not as boneheaded." Dick heard the smile in Barbara's voice over the commlink.

"You just haven't been around him enough." A smirk had appeared on Nightwing's face. "Okay, gotta go make sure Jason doesn't traumatize this person."

Dick ended the call and jogged toward Jason, overhearing part of his conversation with their new friend. "All I'm saying is, we don't know how far along the workers are on this building. These girders could go at any minute. I certainly don't feel safe up here, I don't know about you—"

"Hood! That's enough, let her down, man." Dick shook his head as he approached the scene. They had taken the woman to a construction site in Lafayette, one of the lower-income neighborhoods of the city.

The Red Hood shook his head as he pulled the bound woman up and cut her free from the girder, setting her down on the less precarious scaffolding platform with Dick. "I wasn't going to do anything to her. And even if she fell, Supergirl would catch her, you know, probably."

"I'm sure you'd like that." Dick smirked—he didn't have Supergirl's X-Ray vision, but he felt his brother's scowl behind his red helmet. Nightwing crouched down to face the young woman, who glared at him behind brown eyes. "There's some pretty hard evidence that connect you to the fire. You're probably looking at 10 to 20 years in prison."

"How much jail time are you two vigilantes looking at?" The woman spat the words at Dick, who frowned.

"Man, of course she talks to you. They always talk to you. Maybe I should get rid of the helmet?" Nightwing rolled his eyes at Jason's musings.

"Focus, Hood. Ma'am, why have you been burning factories down across the country? That's a lot of work for a cheap thrill. What if someone got hurt?"

"This is the first time I've done this." The woman's hard expression had softened, her brown eyes shimmering slightly. "I—I didn't have anything to do with those other factories."

"The chemical makeup of whatever you used to start this fire matches three other factory burnings that occurred earlier this month." Jason folded his arms again. "That's just a coincidence, though, huh?"

"I just—I'm sorry. I didn't know you two would be there. I was told it would be empty." The woman's voice shook.

"Hey, it's okay. I mean arson is not okay, but no one was hurt." Nightwing reached down and cut the line that bound the woman's hands. "Who told you that?"

"It was the fire captain—Cross. He said this would actually help the fire department. And this woman, she was there, too. They gave me money, and this explosive. Told me exactly where to plant it in the subway tunnel under the factory." The woman rubbed her wrists, glancing up at Nightwing. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt, but my nephew is very sick, and my brother, he actually worked at the factory. The woman said that she could help him sue LexCorp and get the money for his son's treatment."

"Jesus." Red Hood shook his head. Jason's persona made him a good 'bad cop', but he was still a caring man underneath his helmet. "We'll make sure the kid gets treated. Trust me, even though you don't really have any reason to."

"Listen, obviously, burning down factories is bad. But like you said, we're vigilantes, so we're used to legal gray areas." Dick glanced carefully over to his brother. "And on top of all that, I don't particularly care for LexCorp. So, maybe we'll forget about the chemical residue, and take you home instead of to the police station… If you can get us a meeting with that woman who gave you the explosive and money."

"I can do that." The woman nodded quickly in gratitude.

"Hope you know what you're doing, Nightwing." Dick felt Jason's narrowed eyes on him. _I hope so, too, Jay._

* * *

**Then.**

Hank frowned as he stirred his oatmeal. It was the only bearable breakfast food option in the cupboard of the 'Unity Home for Boys and Girls' in Gotham. He tried not to complain, but after being forced to wake up at six in the morning on a Saturday, he was grumpy.

"So, when are you moving in with your new family?" Hank's eyes lit up as he moved them from his oatmeal bowl to meet the silver ones across the table. Aubrey Barrow and her brother Jared were also longtime tenants of Unity.

Hank and Aubrey were the same age, and Jared was one year older than Hank's brother Tanner. Because both pairs of siblings refused to be separated, it made it much less likely for them to be adopted by the families that visited the center, so the four became fast friends.

"Actually, Tanner and I were double-adopted today." Hank grinned at his closest friend. "Two different couples loved us so much that they both agreed to adopt us. It's no big deal or anything. What about you?"

"Oh, that couple didn't adopt me—they were here to tell Jared and I that we were royalty." Aubrey fished a spoon out of a small drawer and scooped some of Hank's oatmeal into her mouth. "They're packing our things as we speak. We'll fly to some small island in an hour and I will be crowned a princess."

"Princess Aubrey Barrow. That's cool. Do you think they'll have oatmeal in your castle?" Aubrey's giggle widened Hank's smile.

"So guess what we're doing today." Aubrey's eyes flashed with mischief.

"What are we doing today?"

"Remember that bag of candy we hauled in when we snuck out on Halloween?" Hank nodded. "I figured out where Margaret is keeping it."

Aubrey swiped another spoonful of oatmeal from Hank's bowl. Margaret Clark, the woman who ran Unity, was a kind, but strict woman. She had a zero-tolerance-policy on sweets in the foster home, wanting to make sure the children in her stayed in good health and didn't develop poor dieting habits.

"You're kidding." Hank's eyes widened at the thought. Somehow, a month ago, Margaret had found the pillowcase of candy that he and Aubrey hid in their roof. "We're going to steal the candy back?"

"No, Henry, of course not." The young man's eyebrows rose in confusion. "You, me, Jared, and Tanner are going to the park. Where we'll enjoy the candy that I already stole back." As she spoke, her silver eyes sparkled, and Hank's confused expression morphed into a smirk.

"Princess Aubrey Barrow. Master thief."

* * *

**Now.**

"You know, Hank, you're generally supposed to _eat_ the oatmeal, instead of just staring at it." Scott Daniels' voice brought Hank back to reality. He smiled sheepishly as Jan laughed.

"This is nice, you know. The three of us just hanging out. I'm glad you two have stopped being so weird around me." The brunch had been Jan's idea, of course. She had adjusted the Union's business hours so that the trio could have the shop all to themselves on Sunday mornings.

"It _is _nice. I hope we can continue doing this when you start school again in the fall." Despite his life seeming to be stuck in fast-forward the past few days, seeing Jan Granger's smile could always help him slow down and relax. "We're both so, _so_ proud of you for earning that scholarship, Henry."

"I think you're going to enjoy BCC a lot, Hank. And I think you're smart to start out slow, taking classes part-time at first." Scott took a bite of scrambled eggs before continuing. "How was the game, by the way? How's Liz?"

"It was fun—I paid attention for like 5 whole innings. And Liz is..." Hank's face portrayed a puzzled expression. He shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Distracting?" Jan's green eyes flashed with humor. "I'm sure it was tough to pay attention—she is awfully cute."

"She… She is." Hank laughed. "I'm not entirely sure what's going on there, to be honest. But it was nice to see her again, for sure."

"Relationships are complicated. It's okay not to understand them completely. Really, everyone's just making it up as they go." Scott spoke slowly, and Hank raised an eyebrow. He caught a nervous look in Jan's eyes as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"What's going on? You're being weird again." These two were the closest things he had to parents. It was easy for him to recognize when either of them were troubled. "Is something wrong? Is it the Union? The mentorship program?"

Jan and Scott shared a quick look and both laughed. "No, Henry, nothing's wrong. It's actually good news." Jan paused, looking toward Scott, who finished up a sip of orange juice.

"Hank, last night, I asked Jan to marry me." Hank's jaw dropped. _Oh my god, duh._ He chastised himself, noticing for the first time that Jan's left hand was adorned with a sparkling diamond ring. It wasn't large or ostentatious, but it had a simple beauty to it.

"Wow. I mean, uh—wow!" Hank had a feeling similar to the one he had the other night when he was drugged. "Did you say yes?"

Hearing Jan and Scott's laughter helped ease Hank's mind again. "I did." Jan was smiling wide. She looked as happy as Hank had ever seen her. Scott's color-changing eyes were a clear, happy cerulean.

Hank shook his head with a grin and pushed himself up from the table, striding around to embrace both Scott and Jan. "This is amazing! I'm so happy for you two! My two cool, youthful parents are getting married."

* * *

"Say what you will about Barbara Gordon, but when she takes you on a date, it's never boring." Dick winked at Barbara, who rolled her eyes in response.

"It's not Barbara Gordon, _Ric_. It's Rachel Cobb. And next time we go on an undercover date, you're paying." Dick Grayson, or _Ric Cobb_, as he was calling himself today, laughed at his pretend-wife.

"Sounds good, Rach." Dick's eyes shifted toward the entrance of the restaurant as a middle-aged woman finished speaking to the hostess and strode toward their table. "Showtime, dearest."

The older woman sat down at the table next to Dick and Barbara's, casually opening a menu. Dick pulled out his phone and examined it carefully, keeping the raven-haired woman in his peripherals. "I've heard the duck is exquisite." The woman's voice was quiet.

"The first time I came here, I had the duck. Last time, I had the chicken. This time, I think I'll have the fish." Barbara spoke the code words slowly, never looking up from her own menu. The dark-haired woman set her menu down.

"The Cobbs?" Dick nodded in answer. "Alley out back. Two minutes." The woman still never looked directly at Dick or Barbara as she stood up and briskly exited the restaurant.

* * *

"Sorry about the codespeak and the rudeness." The woman's expression was warm, her deep green eyes sincere. Dick/Ric felt a wave of deja vu at the woman's familiar appearance. "It's sort of silly, but you can never be too careful."

"We totally understand." Barbara/Rachel said quickly, reaching her hand out toward the woman. "I'm Rachel, this is my husband Ric."

"Marilyn Dagget. Very nice to meet you." Marilyn shook both Ric and Rachel's hands. "I understand you heard about our organization from our contact in Metropolis. How much did she tell you?"

"Not much, really." Ric frowned and rubbed the back of his head, fingers gingerly grazing over the large scar from his bullet wound. "She said you helped people, like us. Working class people."

"We do. Our methods are… Controversial. But they are effective. And we are very careful when choosing our targets."

"The factories." Rachel nodded.

"Correct. We're careful to ensure that we don't put any person in harm's way." Marilyn paused, briefly. "We just want things to be fair. Billionaires, millionaires, they're too far removed from normal people. Normal people who work in dangerous factories making their products while they sit in office spaces more expensive than the factory workers' houses."

"We understand." Ric said gently. "We want to help, too."

"Marilyn, obviously we've only just met, so you can't possibly trust us." Rachel quickly followed up Ric's words. Dick smacked hismelf mentally—he was being too eager. The nagging voice in the back of his head about the familiarity of this woman made him antsy. He focused on Barbara as she continued. "We wanted to give you, not quite an olive branch, but a gift to start building some trust."

Rachel handed a flash drive to Marilyn. "This drive is full of information on the crime families of Gotham and Bludhaven. Phone records, emails, transaction histories, assets—it's all there."

"Hmm. This is… interesting. We rarely receive gifts from people who are potentially interested in joining our cause." Marilyn offered a small smile. "I appreciate this."

"Rach and I have a history of taking down people who got rich by stepping on others. We wouldn't want to tell you who to target for whatever's next, but we figured you might be interested in the corrupt upper class." Ric slid his hands into his pockets.

A moment of silence was interrupted by a quiet buzzing noise. Marilyn glanced at her phone, then quickly looked back up toward Rachel and Ric. "It was nice to meet you both. I'm afraid I have to go." She handed a pager to Rachel, then turned and strode out of the alley. "We'll be in touch."

* * *

"Overall, it went pretty well." Barbara leaned against the side of the batcomputer console. "Whenever she plugs in the drive, it should beam the signal to the batcomputer's system. We'll be able to see whatever they're up to. It's just a waiting game for now."

As he so often did, Batman leaned back in the chair that Dick had named 'the bat-chair' long ago. "Good work. We'll have to keep a close eye on the crime families in the meantime, to make sure they aren't attacked with the information you gave to Marilyn." With his cowl pulled back behind his head, Bruce Wayne had a pensive look on his face. "You're quiet, Dick."

He glanced toward Nightwing, who stood nearby with his arms folded, staring into space. Dick shook his head quickly. "Sorry. I'm just thinking. Babs—did Marilyn look familiar to you?"

"Not really." Barbara's brow furrowed slightly in concern. "You recognized her?"

"I'm not sure." Dick admitted.

"Perhaps she has 'one of those faces', Master Dick." Alfred Pennyworth strolled into the cave, offering a platter of refreshments.

"Perhaps, Alfie." Dick smiled as he took a glass from Alfred's platter. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome, sir. How goes your tutelage of young Master Henry?" Alfred set the newly empty platter down. Dick glanced at Bruce as he swallowed a sip from his smoothie. Bruce had expressed general support of Dick taking Hank under his wing, but Dick suspected his mentor had opinions that he wasn't sharing.

"It's going well. Hank doesn't have nearly as much experience as Damian did when he started, but he's a far more eager student." Dick took another sip of smoothie.

"A quick student, too. He did some good detective work the other night." Barbara smiled at Dick, while Bruce raised an eyebrow just slightly.

"You've worked with Henry, Barbara?" Bruce glanced between his two former students.

"Um, yes?" Batgirl glanced toward Dick with an apologetic look.

"Hmm." The trademark Batman _hmm._ A single syllable with a thousand possible meanings. Dick cleared his throat quickly.

"I thought it would be helpful if Hank worked with the whole family, to give him a broader perspective." He explained. "I asked them each individually, of course. It's not my place to force them to teach my partner, or to reveal their identities to him."

"The _whole_ family?" Bruce clasped his hands in front of his face, obscuring his mouth from view. Dick sighed.

"I'm sorry, Bruce, I just don't know if Hank is ready to meet Batman, or Bruce Wayne, for that matter. And I didn't know if you wanted to meet him! I didn't want to put you in an uncomfortable position." Dick was telling half truths, somewhat of a pointless endeavor when speaking to the world's greatest detective.

"Of course you didn't know. You didn't ask me." Bruce spun back in the bat chair, hands beginning to fly across the keyboard. "I understand, Dick," a teasing warmth was now present in Bruce's voice, "He's _your_ Robin, after all."


	17. Family Values Part 5

**Family Values**

**Chapter Five**

Hank snapped his arm forward, flexing his shoulder and tricep and flicking his wrist. Three wingdings spun through the air and embedded themselves in each of the three targets across the room. One of the shurikens stuck into the bullseye of the middle target, the other two found themselves in the ring just outside of their targets' bullseyes.

Kite frowned. He had hoped that spending time in the training room would help clear his mind, but so far he wasn't finding any success. Between the news from Scott and Jan, his failure to catch the thief the other night, the possibility that the thief was in fact his oldest friend, and the whole rooftop makeout session, Hank's mind had been swimming all day.

He had already made one attempt to remedy the torrent of thoughts in his brain.

"_Thanks so much, again, for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Carter." Hank offered a warm smile to Liz's parents. _

"_Henry Duncan, you are far too polite for a young man of your age." Liz's mother laughed, her short and wavy blonde hair bouncing. "Please, for me, call me Elaine." _

"_You can call me Mr. Carter." Hank turned toward toward the salt-and-pepper-haired man. Hank's momentary discomfort was washed away by the kind look in the man's blue eyes. "Or George. Whichever you prefer, Hank." _

"_That's strange. I heard someone say 'thank you for dinner', but no one addressed me, nor the salad I slaved over." Liz's smirk spread to Hank, pulling the corners of his mouth outward into a wide, probably silly-looking, grin. _

"_So sorry, Elizabeth. Thank you very much for the salad." Hank winked as the Carters and he sat down to the dinner table._

Hank blipped back into the present. Hank had joined the Carters for dinner because typically, being with Liz was so easy, he didn't have to think at all. But his head still felt as crowded as the subway car he took on the way back from Liz's brownstone.

"Hey, a bullseye! Nice arm there, Kite." Dick's cheerful voice rang through the basement of Grayson's Gym. Hank gave a small smile to his mentor's praise, but wasn't satisfied.

"Just _one_ bullseye, though." The sandy-haired young man chided himself. He shook his head and looked at Dick. "How are you, Dick? I know it's only been a few days, but it feels like I haven't seen you in forever."

"Aww, I missed you too, kid." Dick went to ruffle Hank's hair, but Hank batted his arm away with a smile and a roll of his eyes. "I'm doing alright. There's been a lot on my mind recently, but hey—that's life sometimes."

"I've kind of been dealing with the same thing." Hank rubbed the back of his head. "You mean this just keeps happening? Even when I'm as old as you?"

Dick threw a light jab to Hank's stomach, too quick to block, but only hard enough to elicit a small "_Oof!_" from his protege. "Afraid so, champ. But I know a good fix, even if it's a temporary one." Dick winked at Hank, removing his blue domino mask from his bag. "Wanna go beat up some criminals?"

Hank was already pressing his own mask onto his face. Kite grinned up at his mentor, his identity now safe and sound. "Gee whiz, Nightwing, I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Kite and Nightwing sat with their legs dangling off the rooftop of Ralph's Bodega, each of the masked young men scarfing down a sandwich with possibly alarming speed.

Ralph's eyes widened in surprise when Hank had ordered a chicken and avocado melt for himself and an american club for his mentor, but nevertheless, Ralph made the sandwiches for the young vigilante and encouraged him to have a nice night.

"So are we agreed that the score is 8 to 6?" Nightwing asked his partner in between bites.

"Hmm." Hank swallowed a hunk of chicken. "I still say I had the one guy in the beanie hat."

"My escrima stick knocked him out!" Dick argued.

"Yeah, and he was an easy target for you because I had him in a headlock!" Hank replied with a smirk.

Dick took a big gulp of water, exhaling a refreshed '_ahh' _upon finishing. "Okay, so we'll share that point. I stay at 8, you get bumped up to 7."

"What are we playing for? Bragging rights?"

"I hadn't really thought about it." Dick rose, crumpling the trash from their snack into a brown paper bag and tossing it into the trash can on the sidewalk below.

"Did they really used to call you and Batman the _Dynamic Duo_?" Hank stretched as he stood up.

"It wasn't just me. Batman and Robin are the Dynamic Duo, no matter who wears the 'R'." Dick turned toward his partner. "By the way, you'll have a lesson with the Red Hood in a few days."

"Is he not, like, a bad guy?" Kite adjusted his blue gloves, feeling a bit anxious.

"Nah, he's just a little rebellious. Anti-hero at worst. He was Robin after me, remember? You know, until he died. But he's been back for a while, and gotten over all that stuff. Mostly." Nightwing flashed the casual smile he wore so often when telling his partner distinctly not-casual information.

"Anyway. I think the winner should get to decide our team name." Hank fired his grapple across the night sky, pulling himself toward the roof of the Silver Lining Casino. He heard his mentor laugh loudly as he followed.

"It's really more of a nickname than an official title. But we can certainly discuss it."

The two landed silently on the casino rooftop, and Nightwing knelt down near the edge of the roof, overlooking the docks below. Hank followed suit, kneeling next to his mentor. "You're sure that there's going to be a break-in here?"

"I'm not," Dick admitted. "But I am sure there's going to be embezzlement."

Hank raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"It's a staged break-in. The Vonn family has ties to the casino owner, Aaron Silver. Vonn family thugs will rob the place, but then the haul is split fifty-fifty with Silver. A clever idea, almost."

"So now we wait." Hank slumped to the rooftop and took a seat. Dick joined him.

"Now, we wait." Hank felt his head begin to crowd with thoughts again. The crime fighting was a good distraction, but waiting for crime to happen was not as good.

"You know, I was a 17 year old superhero, once upon a time." Nightwing said gently. "And more importantly, I'm your partner. Your friend. You can talk to me. About anything."

Hank smiled at his mentor. It was easy to get caught up in the thrills and amazing feats of Nightwing, sometimes he forgot that Dick Grayson was also just a very good dude. "I guess I'm just still adjusting."

"You've had a lot of changes in your life recently." Dick nodded.

"I have. But that's not really what's throwing me off. Maybe it's part of it—I have so much going on that I forget other people around me are also changing." Hank laughed half-heartedly at himself. "Scott and Jan are getting married."

"Wow!"

"That's what I said. It's crazy." Hank paused, then quickly continued. "It's so great—I mean—I'm so, so happy for them. It's just another big change. My school friends are headed away from Bludhaven and off to college…"

"And your girl-situation." Dick's words caused Hank's pulse to quicken slightly.

_Glaring neon signs. Pinned to the cement of a rooftop. Silver eyes staring into his. "Annoying. But also cute." Soft lips pressing against his. The smell of cinnamon. _

Hank coughed. He hadn't told Dick his suspicion that he might know the thief.

_Sunlight filtering through trees. Sitting on a park bench. "You are so annoying!" Silver eyes crinkling with laughter._

It _had_ to be Aubrey. The odds were astronomically against such a coincidence, but Hank just knew. He wouldn't forget her face, her eyes, her voice. They were all slightly different, matured by a few years, but he was positive that they belonged to Aubrey Barrow.

But Dick hadn't been there. Batgirl didn't see the thief's face, let alone the smooch she planted on him. How could he know?

"Hank? Your date with Liz? Something was weird about it, right?" Nightwing's eyebrows were raised behind his mask.

"Ah. Yes, my 'Liz situation'." Hank laughed and shook his head in relief. "I mean, it was alright. I had dinner with her family tonight."

"And how did that go?" Nightwing's face still showed concern. Kite brought a finger to his chin in thought.

_Hank's back hit the door with a 'thud'. One hand cupped his cheek, the other held the back of his head. Liz's tongue wrestled with his own. _

"_So, does this count as a kiss?" Hank managed to get the words out as he pushed a thick strand of blonde hair behind Liz's ear._

"_Shut up, Hank." Liz murmured, moving Hank's arm to wrap around her waist._

Hank blinked, suddenly aware that his mouth was pulled into a lazy smile. His mentor stood across from him with folded arms. "I'm guessing from the dumb grin on your face, that dinner went well."

"Very good. We had falafel." Kite adjusted his mask, and Nightwing let out a cynical laugh.

"Ah, that's what the kids call it these days." Dick smirked as he peered over the edge of the rooftop. "Uh-oh. Showtime, Kite."

An alarm sounded in the casino, and the pair dropped down to the dock to work. Three thugs stood outside the casino entrance. Kite hurled an escrima stick into the leftmost thug's head—_thonk!_ The man crumpled to the ground as the stick bounced back into Hank's gloved hand.

"Nicely done, Kite." Hank whipped his head toward his mentor, who flipped through the air toward the other two surprised thugs. Nightwing kicked both feet out in front of him, each of his heels finding its own home in the center of either man's sternum.

The thugs fell backwards with a grunt, knocked unconscious upon collision with the dock, while Nightwing gracefully hopped off of them. Kite dusted himself off and offered a handshake to his mentor. "Alright, I accept defeat. 8 to 10 isn't too bad of a loss."

"Something's not right. This was way too easy." Nightwing's head swiveled around, scanning the environment for danger.

"There aren't any more guys inside, or here on the docks. The bag of money is right here." Hank picked up the burlap sack. "Man, all this bag needs is a big black dollar sign."

"Stay focused, Kite." Dick's words brought a frown to Hank's face. He looked at the bag again, poking it. On an instinct, Hank peered in through the bag's opening.

"Hey 'Wing, what are poker chips worth outside of a casino?" Dick's head turned toward Hank, who pulled a circular black chip out of the bag, holding it with two fingers to display to his mentor.

"Nothing. Not worth stealing…" Nightwing suddenly stood straight up and dashed toward the Casino entrance. "It's a distraction! Come on!"

Hank followed his partner through the double doors, and the smell of cigarette smoke and beer hit his nostrils. He felt a bit silly wearing his uniform in such a public and brightly lit place, but he squashed the feeling and reminded himself there was work to do.

Nightwing fired his grapple upward, pulling himself up to the second floor balcony, and Kite followed closely behind. The heroes burst through another pair of double doors, into a large, well decorated office.

A white-haired man lay on an expensive looking sofa, unmoving. "Oh my god." Dick said quietly as he rushed to the man to check his vitals.

Hank eyed the far wall of the office, a large glass pane facing the Atlantic Ocean with a door leading out to a balcony. A chilly breeze flowed into the room from the open door. Kite ran toward the doorway with a sudden sinking feeling.

Shortly after emerging onto the balcony, Hank felt his mentor's presence next to him as his suspicions were confirmed. A slender figure was visible against the backdrop of the Bludhaven skyline, running gracefully across the roof of the Bludhaven Public Library.

"It's her." Hank muttered. He could tell from the way her silhouette moved against the neon lights.

"Her?" Nightwing was puzzled.

"The thief who got away from me. It's her." Hank whipped out his grapple to give chase, but a strong hand grasped his arm.

"Whoa, easy, tiger. No offense, but she got away last time, and she's got a way better head start this time." Nightwing's voice was cheerful, not chiding or condescending, but Hank still glared down at the ground in frustration. "Hey, man, cheer up. Bad guys getting away is part of the game. It's just a sign that you have to be more prepared for next time. We've got a real treat, right here. We're first to the crime scene—it hasn't been all messed up by the police yet."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Hank looked up at the blue domino mask. Nightwing sported his usual playful smirk.

"Knowledge is power, right? Knowledge such as—oh, I don't know… the gender of a thief." Dick's tone was still upbeat, but certainly teasing.

"Oh, yeah. Uh, she's a girl. My bad." Hank rubbed the back of his neck as the pair reentered the office.

Nightwing rolled his eyes with a smile. "You can tell me about her later. Now put your detective hat on, kid. We've got investigating to do."

* * *

The young woman landed on the balcony railing with the grace of a gymnast on a balance beam. Without making a sound, she entered the hotel room and slid the screen door closed behind her, eager to lock out the night winds that blustered at the thirteenth floor.

In the darkness, she changed clothes, stripping off her light leather armor and placing it gently in the bottom of the chest at the back of the room's closet. She strode out of the room and down the call, black pouch in one hand and keycard in the other.

Her shoulders tensed on her way to the elevator, feeling vulnerable and exposed even in the dim light of the hallway. A quick swipe of the keycard, the quiet whirr of the elevator doors opening and closing, and a soft ding as she pressed the _25 _at the top of the panel of buttons.

She exhaled and rolled her shoulders back, opening silver eyes to take in the mirrored walls of the elevator. She gingerly touched the bruise on her chin, the purple mark a stark contrast against her pale skin. She couldn't remember the last time her skin had any sort of blemish.

The light freckles that used to occupy her face had disappeared years ago. Her face wasn't exposed to enough sunlight to maintain them. Her eyes met her reflection's eyes as she ran a hand through her light brown hair. She slipped the keycard into the back pocket of her black jeans and adjusted the sleeves of her pale gray top.

At one time she might have worn an outfit like this to school, or to spend time with friends. Drinking coffee, eating greasy food, watching television. Things that teenage girls do. Her fingers brushed at her bruised chin once more, but the touch she felt was not her own.

All over again, she felt the hard heel of a palm. All in the span of one moment, her hood and mask pushed away, her exposed face connected to the blue gloved palm, the brown-clad arm and shoulder, the white skin of his neck and face. His eyes were hidden by a mask. It looked like the breast plumage of a hawk, offwhite flecked with brown. 'Kite'.

The mask hid his identity, but the unhidden features... His hair, sandy, undecided between dark blonde and light brown. His mouth, quirked into a half smile revealing only some of his upper teeth while he taunted her. What was so familiar about the boy? She had kissed him to give herself time to get the needle. Used his emotions as a tool, just as she had done many times before while working a job.

The click of the elevator reaching the twenty-fifth floor interrupted her thoughts. Her reflection disappeared as the doors slid open and she entered the penthouse.

"How did it go?" The tall man swirled a glass in his left hand, his regal features keeping his expression even-keel.

"You tell me." The young woman handed him the black pouch. He gently loosened the drawstring that kept it closed to reveal its contents, a metal hook, silvery steel marbled with light flecks of rust.

"Ahh, Aubrey. Well done." The man's blue eyes sparkled over the hook as he gave the praise. She felt warm pride rise in her chest. "You have such a talent for this, you know."

"I try." Aubrey kept her eyes on the floor, her voice quiet.

"This whaling hook was used back when Bludhaven was still a Commonwealth. Before it was given its first name, Blutige Haven." She listened with interest. She always enjoyed when he spoke about history. "Aaron Silver's ancestors made their fortune from whaling. Much of the whale blood in the bay that gave Bludhaven its name was due to the Silver empire. This hook is embedded in the history of the city. History is a priceless quality… But of course, that won't stop us from trying our best to quantify it." The man took a sip from the brandy that occupied his glass, and smiled warmly. "Thank you, Aubrey."

"I'm always happy to help, John." Aubrey clasped her hands behind her back. She was about to open her mouth to speak again, but his words were faster.

"Did you run into that young man in the mask again?" John's blue eyes had hardened; they were unreadable.

"No. Vonn's men bought me more than enough time." Aubrey held his gaze, shoving down any unfocused thoughts at the mention of Kite.

"Perfect." His eyes relaxed again and he let out a light chuckle. "Vonn's men were supposed to help Silver to steal money he doesn't need from his own business, but tonight they helped _you _to steal from him."

"Poetic justice at it's finest." Aubrey flashed a small smile. "What we're all about."

"It's unfortunate that these vigilante types would not be able to understand that." Aubrey nodded her head at John's words. "What was his name? Kite? If he gave you as much trouble as you said, then imagine if he worked _with _us rather than against us."

"He was… impressive." He appeared in her mind again, smirking and holding the pouch he managed to steal from her momentarily. John's words snapped her back into the present.

"Aubrey. You seem distracted. Why don't you get some sleep? You'll have another exciting night tomorrow." John had already turned his attention back to the silver hook.

"Thank you, John." Suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion, she retreated back into the elevator.


	18. Family Values Part 6

**Family Values**

**Chapter Six**

"It obviously seems counter intuitive, at first, but for each fire we set, a whole staff of working class people are made more safe." Dick, currently Ric, nodded his head as he held the gaze of the sandy-haired man in front of him. He briefly allowed his eyes to wander to Barbara, or Rachel, his wife.

Her expression was muted, attentive, with the slightest hint of a smile. Her green eyes shot over to his for just a microsecond, then back to the man speaking to them. Dick held back a smile at the message her eyes sent him. _Pay attention_. Just like in high school, Babs was keeping him focused.

Dick glanced once more around the room. It was sparsely decorated. The table and chairs that the four of them occupied, a desk and a desktop computer, a map on the wall, and a few lamps that lit the place. The small studio apartment in the south end of Gotham must have been used as an office space rather than a place of living.

"The fires are not without cost, of course. But that cost is paid by millionaires, billionaires—people who can afford it." Something about this man, Robert Dagget, Marilyn's husband, struck him as familiar. His brown eyes? The way he spoke? His sandy beard reminded Dick vaguely of Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow. But that wasn't it. "The factories have to upgrade their safety regulations, and the workers who participate in the following class action suit won't have to worry about paying for food for the next year."

"That's really amazing." Barbara/Rachel smiled warmly toward Robert and Marilyn.

"What's amazing, is the information you gave us on the crime bosses. We're in talks with some… associates, who are helping us hit them where it hurts the most." Marilyn had a determined look in her forest green eyes.

"That is, their bank accounts." Robert laughed. "Our friends are helping to redistribute the excess wealth gained through corruption to the people who need it most." The bearded man paused for a moment, his eyes shining slightly. "And it's all thanks to you two, Ric and Rachel."

"We're happy to help, honestly." Dick/Ric flashed a smile. "Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, just like Robin Hood." Dick's mention of his favorite book brought smiles to Robert's and Marilyn's faces.

"That is the idea," Marilyn started, "Although we don't end up giving it _all_ away, so that we can keep our operations going."

"Are these marks all targets?" Barbara motioned to a map of the eastern seaboard on the wall, covered in marks of various colors.

"That's right. They're mostly factories, but we've started looking into warehouses and construction sites as possible targets." Robert answered.

"All of those environments pose potential danger to the laborers." Marilyn followed up.

"What is your next move? And is there any way we can help?" Dick once again found himself impatient, he clenched his teeth behind his closed lips, reminding himself not to rush into this.

"That's actually why we called you in. Robert and I have to meet with a contact tonight to discuss a larger plan we have in the works." Marilyn spoke in her matter-of-fact, all-business tone. "Oswald Cobblepot is hosting a large benefit dinner in a few weeks, with many big names from Gotham, Bludhaven, and Metropolis alike on the guest list."

"Cobblepot is hosting a benefit dinner? That seems a little…" Dick's face twisted in confusion.

"Out of character." Barbara offered, taking his hand and giving him a look that reassured him and and the same time reminded him to _slow down_.

"Indeed. That, coupled with the fact that many names on the guest list appeared in the records you provided us, is why we want you to investigate his hand in the benefit dinner." Robert folded his arms. "To be honest, we're not sure what we're even looking for, but we figured since Rachel is so good with a computer, she could pull any data and files she thought might be useful."

"I know we're asking a lot," Marilyn's tone had softened. "It could be dangerous. '_Penguin' _has even given Batman a run for his money before. We understand if you don't feel comfortable doing all of this."

Dick's blue eyes flicked toward Barbara's green ones. He felt his mouth imitate hers, curling into a small smile. Her sparkling eyes told him she had received the message he tried to convey with his own. "I think we can handle it." Dick turned toward Marilyn and Robert as Barbara chuckled softly.

"We're kind of… _into _danger."

* * *

Hank frowned at the statue in front of him. "Can you believe they bring kids here on field trips? This thing is creepy as hell."

"I can." William Bennet laughed heartily. "I was one of those kids not terribly long ago. Sixth grade trip to the Haven Museum. It was awesome."

"Was this statue here back them?" Hank turned to his best friend, whose warm brown eyes crinkled as he grinned.

"Oh yeah. I had nightmares for weeks. Look at its weird fingers." The statue was not made from _actual_ human teeth, but with clay. Some twisted artist had just decided to mold the clay into thousands of replica human teeth.

Hank eyed the long fingers, outstretched as though they were about to close around someone's throat. "Okay, well I need to look at something else, like, immediately."

Will laughed again. "Let's go look at the Oberon collection." Hank smiled as he followed his friend. Will was the third friend he made in Bludhaven, after Liz and Kenzie. The four of them became nearly inseparable their senior year.

Before Will, Hank had never had a real guy friend that was his age. So many boys in the foster system were just too defensive, too on edge to really be friends. Will was the first young man that Hank got past the 'casual acquaintance' stage with.

Hank grinned as he thought about his friendship with Will. Like his relationship with Liz, it was so easy, so normal. But recently, since Hank and Liz's relationship had become more complicated, he found Will to be a more reliable source of normalcy.

"Hold up, Speed Racer." Hank reached for Will's shoulder and spun him around to face the glass case they had almost walked right past. Will's eyes widened as he spun, then narrowed when he saw the case.

"Come on, man, not this again." Will groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, but Hank could see a small smile plastered on his face.

"'_Slice of Haven'_." Hank smirked as he read the plaque on the case aloud. "'_A collection of works based on a theme of beauty hiding in plain sight, right here in Bludhaven. By William Bennet, Bludhaven resident._"

"I told them to just put Will on the plaque." Will muttered, crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders.

"Man, you are the _worst._" Hank laughed. He gazed at the various paintings. A sunlit boardwalk with the Atlantic Ocean for a backdrop. The neon signs of the Melville Section. Three young people laughing in a coffee shop. "This is literally like the coolest thing ever. You're in a damn museum, Will! _I'm_ in the museum! Me, Liz, and Kenz right there in the Union! That's all you!"

"Yeah, I guess it's pretty cool." Will's smile was sheepish as he glanced down at the floor.

"_Pretty cool?!_" Hank shook his head. "I can't believe you. How many kids get their paintings displayed in Museums, Will?"

"I mean, plenty, I'm sure… There are, you know, contests and stuff." Hank rolled his eyes. Will was possibly the most talented person he knew. It was annoying how humble he was.

"Whatever, let's go see the damn Oberon collection." Hank began walking once more, glancing around to the sculptures and paintings that lined the walls. "How's Kenz doing?"

"Uh…" Will's voice sounded strange. _Ah, shit_. Hank knew he had just put his foot in his mouth. "I'm not sure, hopefully she's doing well."

Will and Kenzie Reed had begun dating shortly after Hank met both of them. They were a great couple, somehow being adorable all the time without being annoying about it. Kenzie had moved to North Carolina a few weeks ago as part of an early orientation program for college. Earlier in the summer, Will had expressed his anxieties about what starting college would mean for their relationship.

"You… You guys broke up, didn't you?" Hank's voice was quiet. _Idiot._ He wasn't sure what to say—everything he thought of seemed wrong.

"Yeah. It was just… It was a lose-lose situation, you know?" Will paused for a moment, then coughed. "Neither of us wanted to break up, but we also knew that with college coming—her in North Carolina and me in California… We kept going back and forth on wanting to try long-distance, and finally I just cut it off. I felt like it was unfair to both of us."

"Man. I'm sorry, dude. That sucks big time, no matter how you slice it." Hank stopped walking, and put a hand on Will's shoulder. "For what it's worth, though, I think you made the right move."

"Thanks, Hank. It will be okay, I know. It's just going to suck for a little, I guess." Will's eyes darkened, then lit up again. "Okay but seriously, the Oberon collection rocks so hard. It's all this medieval stuff, like knights, horses, archers. Think like Robin Hood or King Arthur."

Hank smiled and followed his friend, who was already walking forward again, motioning to the exhibit at the end of the hall. "Erica Redmund, the artist who made it all, said she was inspired by tracing her ancestry back to—"

Hank's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of a familiar slender figure, and a flash of light brown hair tied back in an elaborate braid. He quickly Will off and pulled him behind a large sculpture of a raven, carved out of shiny black obsidian.

"Dude, what the hell?!" Hank ripped his hand away from its position covering Will's mouth.

"Sorry, that was uncool. I just…" Hank peeked his head out from behind the statue, scanning across the room and finding the light brown hair again, standing next to a tall raven haired man. Hank was positive it was Aubrey Barrow. _What's she doing here? And who's the guy? _

"Who is that?" Will whispered, and Hank silently thanked the universe that his friend was smart enough to keep his voice low. "Someone from school?"

"No."

"Do you know her?" Hank took a breath and counted to three, trying to remain patient with his current best friend while he glared across the room at his previous best friend.

"I used to."

"That—what?" Will's voice was growing louder. "What about the guy next to her?"

"Will! Shh!" Hank turned around for a moment to give the dark skinned young man a look.

"Hank. They're just looking at the Oberon exhibit. What is the big deal? If you don't tell me I'm going over there."

"Wait!" Hank hissed, then sighed, trying rapidly to think of something to tell Will. He settled on the truth. "Look, that girl used to be my best friend. Back when I lived in Gotham. I ran into her the other night, and, uh, we made out." Well, not the _whole_ truth, obviously.

"Dude." Will's eyes widened. "But, wait—you don't want to go over and talk to her? Why? She looks super cute!"

Hank furrowed his brow. _Really dug yourself a hole, here, Duncan._ "I… Uh…"

"Oh my god! It's you and Liz, right? You feel weird about it because you and Liz have some sort of _thing_ going on." Will smirked at Hank, whose face contorted into a sheepish grin. _Okay, more of the sort-of-truth._

"You got me." Hank turned back to the exhibit, and saw the young woman and the tall man walk away further into the museum. "Okay, we can go look now."

"Henry Duncan, you dog." Will was giggling to himself. Hank rolled his eyes and strode toward the Oberon collection.

"Shut up, William. Let's go look at ye olde art exhibit." _And more importantly, figure out why Aubrey was looking at it._

* * *

Dick adjusted his tie, and opened the door to the lamborghini, feeling his mouth curl into a smile as Barbara Gordon took his hand and stepped out. Dick didn't know much about women's fashion, but with the way Barbara looked in the simple, sleek black dress she wore, he figured she'd have offers for modeling work within the hour.

"You alright there, Richard?" Barbara smirked at him and smoothed the gray lapels of his suit jacket as they casually strolled toward the entrance of the Iceberg Lounge.

"I'm doing great, Babs. You look incredible, by the way." Barbara rolled her eyes, locking arms with Dick and smiling warmly toward the bouncer. "Grayson, party of two."

"Go ahead Mr. Grayson." Dick chuckled as they entered the lounge. It's not like they _had_ to sneak into the lounge. Batgirl and Nightwing could easily take on whatever security thugs that Cobblepot drug up from the back alleys of Gotham.

But, it would probably look suspicious to Robert and Marilyn if Nightwing and Batgirl broke into the lounge on the same night that Dick and Barbara were supposed to do some snooping around in the Penguin's business.

The pair took a seat in a circular booth near a large ice sculpture—a roaring lion. "Obviously, this place is a cesspool for skeezballs to meet up and network with other skeezballs... " Barbara's head turned slowly as she took in the interior of the lounge. "But, at least it's an aesthetically pleasing cesspool."

Dick laughed quietly, glancing around the room and then back to Barbara. Dim lighting from elegant light fixtures, the tinkling of piano keys layered with the low rumble of the crowd. From above, the sounds of slot machines, roulettes, and card tables. "It's something. A little pretentious for a circus rube like me."

Barbara ordered drinks from an approaching waitress as Dick continued to scan the area, his eyes following another waitress that strode toward a security guard and whispered something in his ear. The security guard rose slowly, then walked with a brisk pace down a hallway to an elevator.

_Bingo._ Dick got Barbara's attention with his eyes and nodded toward the elevator quickly. She raised her eyebrows in response, then smiled graciously as the waitress returned and placed two glasses down on the table.

Dick rubbed the accompanying lime garnish around the rim of the glass before squeezing its juice into the drink and taking a sip. "Vodka sodas, huh? A little vanilla for Barbara Gordon."

Barbara's eyes sparkled behind her glass as she took a sip from her drink. "Next time you can order as fancy a drink as you'd like, circus rube. Didn't you promise me a surprise distraction? Where is that?"

Dick laughed and brought his glass to his mouth once more, pausing as he heard a voice in his ear. "We're ready when you are, Birdwatcher."

"Ten-four, Red Bird. You're good to go." Dick winked at Barbara as he quietly replied.

"Is it too late to back out of this?" A higher pitched voice sighed in Dick's earpiece.

"No backing out now, Hairball." The lower voice had a quiver of laughter in it.

"I'm choosing the codenames next time." Grumbled the higher voice.

Dick grinned and withheld laughter at the banter in his earpiece. "Okay, you two, we don't have all night."

Barbara raised an eyebrow across the table and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the shattering of glass. A dark figure leapt through the window and onto the balcony railing of the second floor.

The figure gracefully dismounted from the railing, flipping and landing softly on a table across the room. "Catwoman?" Barbara's voice carried notes of genuine surprise.

"Sort of." Dick replied with a smirk.

All the attention in the lounge was on the woman in the black bodysuit and goggles, until a blur of red and black flew through the shattered window and dove toward 'Catwoman'. Red Robin and Catwoman flew at each other, hurling kicks, punches, and elbows but never landing a blow.

"Nothing to see here, folks, we're on the guest list!" Red Robin announced as he continued to trade whiffs with the black-clad woman. The exchange looked less like a fight and more like an elegant dance.

"Tim?" Barbara glanced toward Dick with a confused look on her face. Catwoman leapt back from Red Robin, performing a quick handspring and landing on another table.

Dick took a casual sip from his glass as Red Robin chased Catwoman into the display in the center of the room—a small iceberg surrounded by water.

"Fly away, little bird. It's too cold for you here," Catwoman's taunts echoed through the room. Barbara's eyes widened at the words—the patrons of the lounge would not realize the timbre of Catwoman's voice was a bit more shrill than her usual husky alto—but Babs knew exactly what she heard.

"Stephanie?" She hissed toward Dick, her eyes were narrowed but her voice had a tremble of laughter. She was amused by the distraction, just as he'd hoped.

"Time to go, Babs." Dick grinned wide as he set his drink down and walked briskly across the floor. A small surge of adrenaline pumped through him, as he walked he felt Barbara fall into step with him while the eyes in the room still focused entirely on Tim and Steph's little dance.

Dick quickly removed a small device, approximately the size and shape of a quarter, from his jacket and placed it on the elevator's panel. The doors opened, and Dick retrieved the quarter-gadget as he and Barbara stepped inside.

Dick hit the bottom button of the elevator, and turned toward a smirking Barbara with her arms folded across her chest. "Why was Spoiler in a Catwoman costume?"

"The distraction needed to be more believable. Why would Red Robin be chasing Spoiler around?" Dick shot Barbara a wink and tapped his earpiece. "Redbird and Hairball, we're good. Thanks for the help."

In the brief moment of solitude within the elevator, the sight of Barbara quietly caused a warm feeling to arise in Dick's chest. "It's cute when you do spy stuff." She stepped toward him and adjusted his navy tie.

Dick smiled and leaned in, his lips meeting hers for half a second before hearing a buzzing in his ear.

"Nice work." Stephanie's normal cadence, no longer putting on the false Catwoman voice.

"Nice work yourself." It was Tim's voice that was different, quieter and lower than usual. "Any chance you'll keep that suit?"

"Hmm—You like it?" Stephanie giggled.

"Steph. Tim. Maybe take this off the commlink?" Dick rolled his eyes. "Thanks again for your help. And, uh—be safe, or whatever." He shook his head. "Teenagers."

Barbara was giggling against his chest. She stole another quick kiss as the elevator doors opened, revealing a dark room full of various boxes labeled with restaurant and bar supplies. _Club Soda. Silverware. Platters. _

Dick peeked his head around the corner, scanning over a better lit hallway. He nodded to Barbara and they quickly dashed down the hall toward two large mahogany double doors.

"Penguin is in Metropolis tonight schmoozing with benefit attendees. His office should be unoccupied." Dick fished a lockpick out of his sleeve and went to work on the double doors.

"You're not alone, you know. Lots of capes have a villain crush or two. At least lots of the women do." Dick opened the door and held it for Barbara, who strode into the office.

The walls were adorned with arctic-climate-animal themed art. The look was a little excessive, trying too hard to seem fancy. Classic Cobblepot.

"You guys talk about stuff like that?" Dick's mouth hung open as Barbara sat down at the computer and plugged a thumb drive into it.

"Sure. Black Canary had a thing for Hush, for a little while." Dick raised both eyebrows in surprise as Barbara's fingers flew across the keyboard.

"You're kidding." Documents, emails, images, and spreadsheets disappeared as quickly as they popped into view on the screen.

"No. Something about him being a Bruce Wayne evil twin." Before Dick could comment on how disturbed he was, Barbara spoke again. "I kind of liked Two-Face."

"_What?_" Had he been drinking anything, Dick would have done a spit-take. "Babs. Two-Face? He's hideous. And a murderer."

"Well, Harvey Dent is definitely not hideous, and he went straight for a little while, remember? It's kind of a 'Phantom of the Opera' thing." One image popped up on the screen that gave Barbara pause. "Wait… this is the necklace that the thief stole the other night. The one that got away from Hank."

"Are you sure?" Dick scanned over the silver necklace.

"Eidetic memory, Grayson." Barbara gave him a look and tapped her temple.

_I thought it was a photographic memory? What's the difference? Gotta look that up later._

"You think Penguin hired the thief?" Dick asked as Barbara continued her systematic audit of computer's file. Another image popped up, a silver hook with just a hint of rust. "That's the hook was stolen from Aaron Silver! Cobblepot has to be involved in this somehow."

"There are forty-seven messages sent from this system admitting possession of stolen valuables. Family heirlooms, art, jewelry… Why tell someone that you had stolen something of theirs?"

"Everything Penguin does is fueled by greed. The messages are like ransom notes."

"Oh my god. Aaron Silver is dead. No autopsy was done, but his body was found in his apartment. First responders think he was burned alive."


	19. Family Values Part 7

**Family Values**

**Chapter Seven  
**

* * *

_**Then.**_

"Please, please don't hurt me!" Aaron Silver pleaded. The man's face was covered in sweat nearly as soon as he was revived from unconsciousness. Nightwing glanced toward his protege, who pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"Sheesh. Can you believe this guy?" Hank's voice did not hide his irritation.

Dick knew his partner was antsy. He'd been there. In his Robin days, when someone got away, he felt the need to chase them in every fiber of his being. But as Batman had told him many times, they weren't beat cops who ran after bad guys. They were detectives.

"He's a little spooked, Kite. Be nice." Nightwing knelt in front of Silver. "Do you remember what happened?"

"No." Silver said quickly, swallowing hard.

"Yeah he does." Kite had turned his attention toward the wall above the desk, decorated with a display of various antique whaling tools. The glass panel of the display was wide open, and there was clearly something missing from it. "The display is behind your desk, where you must have been sitting. There are two entrances to the room, and both are across the room from the desk. You must have seen her come in."

"I—I—" Silver stuttered. Hank expelled a loud groan, his whole body displaying his annoyance. Nightwing shot a look toward Kite. "Okay. I saw them come in. But only for a second. I could tell that they—"

"She." Hank interrupted.

"She—well, she obviously didn't have an appointment. I offered her money. I was afraid." Silver swallowed hard again.

"Did she say anything?" Nightwing asked gently.

"No. She walked past me and opened the display, and then I reached for the phone, and then… I don't remember." Silver glanced nervously between Nightwing and Kite.

Nightwing shared a look with his partner. "So she's just going to take something and leave, but then he reaches for the phone—" Hank nodded quickly.

"And she sticks him with this. Probably the same stuff she used on me." Kite's blue-gloved hand held the small needle that they found embedded in Silver's neck.

"What did she take? What's missing from the display?" Nightwing turned back to the older man. He briefly glanced at the display, and his eyes widened.

"No! My—my grandmother's whaling hook. It's been in my family for generations." Hank crossed his arms and looked at his mentor.

"Whalers? Your family got rich killing whales?" Dick quickly placed a hand on Kite's shoulder. Hank had a soft spot for animals. In their first week of working together, they had gone after a group of poachers, and Hank had been more cold and brutal than Dick thought was possible for the young man.

In this moment, Dick saw the same anger he saw that week. Kite's voice was low, but sharp. Dangerous. Nightwing could imagine Hank's green eyes, darkened with rage behind his mask.

"Kite." He kept the tone of his voice calm, and the grip of his partner's shoulder tight. "Is there any reason that someone would want to steal that hook?" Kite took a breath and turned around, stepping away from Silver to face the display once more.

"It's worth a lot of money. Probably thirty-thousand dollars. Why else would someone steal something?" Silver began to stand up from the couch, but Dick quickly punched him in the shoulder, and he crumpled.

"Huh. I thought _I _was doing the bad cop thing." Dick allowed himself to chuckle, now that Silver was unconscious once more.

"Regardless of your thief friend, he was still embezzling from the casino. Now let's go, we've got work to do."

* * *

**Now.**

Dick peered into the dark room, glancing around and listening, but detecting nothing. "It's clear. Come on."

Barbara quickly slipped through the door and strode right to the computer. "Do you think they have many more of these safe houses?"

"Who knows. They've been involved in over ten class action lawsuits of billionaires. They could have a fleet of yachts for all we know." Oracle's computer had alerted them when one of the thumb drives Barbara left to the Daggets had been used, leading them to the location of another studio apartment in the slums of Gotham.

Barbara went to work, her fingers clicking and tapping away, filling the silence of the room with an uptempo percussion beat. Dick searched the rest of the room, finding a lamp to turn on and providing some dim light. He quickly rifled through a drawer filled with papers.

"Chemical formulas." He muttered to himself. "Babs, did the autopsy of Silver's body get recorded yet?" Barbara paused her work on the computer, switching her view to her phone's screen instead.

"Do you think they're still at whatever meeting they were going to? I'm not sure how much time we have." Babs questioned as she swiped and tapped at her phone.

"I'm not sure they went to any meeting at all. I've been so stupid during all this. Should've put a tracker on one of them. Both of them." Dick glared at the page in front of him.

"The autopsy is in. Traces of manganese oxide ore and potassium hydroxide. Those combine to make—" Dick cut Barbara off, scowling.

"Potassium permanganate. Put those together with glycerin and water, and you've got a chemical fire." He threw the paper in his hand down on the desk in front of Barbara. "This is the formula for Potassium permanganate. They killed Aaron Silver tonight, Babs."

"Oh my god." Barbara muttered, glancing at the paper Dick placed before her. She gave her head a small shake and returned to the computer, fingers flying away.

"Why would they do that? Have they killed anyone before? Why Silver? Was it an accident?" Dick's mind raced with questions. "Can you search for any mention of Silver?"

"There's an email sent to Silver. A ransom note for the hook that was stolen, just like you said." Barbara's fingers abruptly stopped. "And his name was recently deleted from—wait, why do they have this on here? A guest list for Cobblepot's benefit dinner? The thumb drive they plugged in didn't have that information."

"Silver's name is on the list?" Dick peered over her shoulder at the screen.

"It was. This is an older copy. I'll pull up the most recent one." A few clicks the screen's image to shift slightly as the old list was replaced by the current one. "Oh my god."

Dick's eyes widened. "What the fu—"

"What are you doing?" Dick whirled around to see the source of the harsh voice. Robert and Marilyn stood just a few steps inside the doorway of the room. Neither looked particularly happy.

Dick's mind was consumed with anger. He took a step toward the older couple without thinking. "Right now? Learning that you killed Aaron Silver," he hissed.

"Ric." Marilyn's voice was icy, her dark green eyes darker than usual. Her hand darted behind her back, then returned with a pistol pointed toward Dick.

Barbara quickly pulled Dick backward by the shoulder. "We're done here. We're going."

"Not yet. Who the hell are you two?" Robert's tone was low, sharp, and dangerous.

Marilyn's hand stayed steady, her pistol trained on Dick, but her eyes darted away for a moment toward the computer. "Rodger," she almost gasped, "the screen."

_Rodger? _Suddenly, all of the puzzle pieces that wouldn't quite fit together connected perfectly in Dick's mind. Of course. Robert/Rodger's eyes shot toward the computer, and his mouth went agape.

"You know that name?" Dick tensed his body as the words left his mouth. He felt Babs do the same. Like so many times before, they'd have but a moment to act.

"Who. The hell. Are you?" Robert reached behind his own back slowly.

"It doesn't matter who we are." Dick sensed that Barbara had picked up on the situation as well, coming to the same realization that Dick had. "You two, though. You're Rodger and Mary Duncan. The name on the screen in your son's."

In between a series of names in black Times New Roman, "_Henry Duncan"_ was highlighted in blue against the white background of the digital guest list. Rodger's eyes widened, and Mary's hand shook for a moment—the moment Dick and Babs had been waiting for.

They each shot forward. Step one: Barbara kicked the gun from Mary's hand. Step two: Dick jabbed a punch toward Rodger's torso. Dick's fist glanced off of Rodger's chest. Nightwing knew the feeling of striking kevlar—Rodger must have a vest on beneath his white button down.

Dick clutched his hand, and Rodger shoved him to the ground. Babs twisted her body into another kick, aimed toward Mary's shoulder, but she stepped back out of the way, and Rodger caught the off-balance Barbara, shoving her down toward Dick.

The older couple both sprinted out of the room, slamming the door closed behind them. Dick had sprung to one knee, enabling him to catch Babs before she hit the ground. He gave her a light push backward onto her feet and she returned the favor by pulling him to his own feet.

They rushed out the door and into the hall of the apartment building, just in time to see Rodger throw an object onto the ground. The hallway between the two pairs burst into flames almost instantly. The fire roared, and for a moment, Dick, Barbara, Mary, and Rodger all held eye contact with one another.

Behind the blaze, Rodger and Mary disappeared into the stairwell. Dick felt Babs' hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Man Wonder, move."

With a strong elbow, Barbara broke the glass shielding a fire extinguisher and quickly began spraying foam toward the flames, but to no effect. "Dammit. Chemical fire."

"Let's go!" This time, Dick pulled Babs away by her wrist, using his own elbow to smash the glass of a window at the end of the hall. He ushered Barbara out of the building and onto the fire escape, and pulled the fire alarm before joining her in the night air.

As his foot left the final metal step and found pavement, Nightwing felt like Robin again. Criminals escaping just out of his reach, and his body urging him to sprint after them. He could run around the building and try to find them, but they were likely long gone. "Dammit." Dick pounded his fist against the side of the apartment building and glared upwards at the smoke rising from it.

"Hey." Barbara's arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. "Hey, it's okay. They're gone, but we'll find them. We always do."

Dick turned to look into Barbara's green eyes, and thought of his partner's green eyes. A deeper, forest green than Babs, almost exactly the same as Mary. His mother. Hank's voice, so often warm and bright, but low and sharp like Rodger's when he was angry.

"It's going to be fine. We'll be fine. He'll be fine." Barbara's words were filled with confidence, lighting a fire of determination in Dick's chest.

"Okay." He nodded. "Let's get to work."


	20. Family Values Part 8

Hank sipped coffee from his thermos as he scanned over the article displayed on his laptop screen. It was common for people his age to visit a coffee shop such as _24/7 Joe_ to do some work or reading, taking advantage of the caffeine and complimentary Wi-Fi.

Of course, those people probably didn't wear masks while browsing the internet or composing emails. And they likely sat at a table in the shop rather than on the roof. But Kite figured his uniform would probably disturb the peace of the customers, even with the time being 11:42 pm.

"_The Oberon Collection: Inspired by a sword passed down through generations since the sixth century, Erica Redmund created these works in the style of Arthurian Legends. These pieces evoke memories of Kings and Queens, knights, quests, and magic that had been all but forgotten."_

Hank closed the tab on the Oberon Collection and peered with binoculars across the street. Another reason he chose to sit on the roof of 24/7 Joe was to give himself a better view of the Haven Museum across the street.

He'd been perched on the rooftop for just under two hours, and saw no signs of his kleptomaniac childhood friend. Had he been wasting his time? Had Aubrey not been casing the museum in preparation for a theft tonight? Could she have just been visiting the museum because of an interest in art? Was it even her he saw at the museum today? He'd never even seen her face.

_Stellar work, Detective Kite._ He'd been quick to trust his gut instinct, following a hunch without enough hard evidence to back it up. Kite exhaled an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask.

His hand shot to his pocket as his phone buzzed. He whipped it out and glanced at the screen.

"_What are you doing two weeks from now?" _

A message from Elizabeth Carter. Hank chuckled to himself as he tapped a response.

"_You know I'm not capable of planning that far ahead."_

"_Great. My family's going to a fancy benefit dinner, and you're my date."_

Hank shook his head with a small smile. Liz was naturally a tough person to tell "no." When she was unwilling to take "no" for an answer, it was basically impossible.

"_Sounds good."_

"Yo." Hank whirled around to face the voice behind him, his heart pounding in surprise. "Easy, kid. Chill. It's just me, your old buddy Red Hood." A man in charcoal armor and a brown jacket carefully stepped toward Kite, pulling a red hood back behind his head to reveal dark hair and a red domino mask. "Nice to meet you."

Hank slowly took one hand off the escrima stick strapped to his back, and the other out of the wingding pouch in his belt. "Does every... Bat-person just suck at first impressions?"

"Sorry kid, didn't mean to spook you. Like I said—Red Hood—nice to meet you." The Red Hood offered his hand, which Hank reluctantly shook. "Dick told you I was coming, right?

"Who's Dick? Don't you wear a helmet—or whatever that thing is called?" Hank eyed Red Hood carefully as folded his laptop and put it in his bag.

"Relax, man. We're on the roof of a two-story building. No one's listening to us. Dick Grayson, A.K.A. Nightwing asked me, Red Hood, A.K.A. Jason Todd, to take you—Kite—Hank Duncan—on a little field trip." Red Hood, or Jason, spoke as casually as if they were old friends meeting inside the coffee shop. He pulled his hood back over his head, further obscuring his countenance.

"Okay, you made your point, dude." Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to wince at the mention of his real name while in uniform.

"And as for the helmet… Well, I'm sort of rebranding. I'll tell you on the way, come on, we're on a tight schedule." Jason took a step back and disappeared below the ledge of the roof. Hank quickly jogged to the ledge, seeing Red Hood slip into the driver's seat of a sleek black car.

Kite glanced over his shoulder toward the museum. He felt the urge to continue his stakeout, but he still had no idea if Aubrey would even show up. He shook his head and leapt off the roof. _Field trip it is._

* * *

She couldn't tell whether or not she had been in the church building before until she inhaled through her nose.

Aubrey had heard once before that smell is the sense most closely associated with memory, and right now, it that idea certainly seemed more plausible than most pop-psychology. The scent in the stale air inside the church was a mix of old carpet, candles, and wood.

She gazed across the aisles and up at the large cross displayed on the wall—the focal point of the room.

"_Do you believe any of this stuff, Henry?" The room was filled with chatter, but nevertheless, her brother's words came under his breath. Jared was naturally cautious_—_compared to other ten year old boys, he was like a practiced politician. Patient, careful, never one to say or do too much, always leaving people wanting more._

"_Honestly, I'm not sure, J." It was rare that Henry Duncan paused like this, even for a brief moment, when giving a response. _

_After being around him almost constantly for the past two years, Aubrey knew that a pause such as this one meant Hank had everything figured out in his head, but he was searching for the proper combination of words to weave his thoughts together for someone else to understand._

"_... I guess I'd like to believe it. There are lots of nice ideas in there. 'Love thy neighbor', 'thou shalt not kill'… Seems great, I guess. But there are definitely things I have questions about. Like that guy who got eaten by a whale."_

"_It wasn't a whale, Hank. It was just a big fish." Tanner Duncan was as sweet and polite as a nine year old boy could be, but he didn't always have the most patience for errors. With his brother, especially, there was no reason to censor his corrections._

"_Okay, well then that's even less likely." A roll of the eyes toward his younger brother. "I'm also confused why everyone is so positive that it's a 'Heavenly Father' and not a mother. I mean how do they _know_?" Hank flashed a look toward Aubrey. _

_The motion was fast and subtle, just a slight quirk of the mouth and a tiny raise of the left eyebrow, but Aubrey had seen Henry make the face many times. The face that said 'Pretty funny, huh?' but didn't give you time to answer._

"_What about you, Aubrey? What do you think of all this?" Aubrey's eyes were on the ceiling, midway through their roll in response to Hank, but she knew without looking that Tanner's own curious gray eyes must be trained on her. His ability to maintain eye contact would've been intimidating if it were not so clearly sincere in its desire to pay attention, to soak up whatever was in front of them._

"_I think… Whatever the church believes is small potatoes compared to the new beds they're giving us. Now I'm going to the snack table over there to secure as many cookies as I can hold. Who's with me?"_

Aubrey's eyes drifted toward the wall where the table was set up on that day, but like nearly everything else that used to be in this building, it hadn't been there for a long time. At least, it was safe to assume that. John wouldn't have chosen this as a meeting place unless it had been abandoned for years.

"Hmm. It's not like them to be late." John checked his watch and glanced toward Aubrey. "I certainly hope they don't plan to keep us waiting for long."

"Apologies, John. Lots of ways to get distracted in Gotham." The door had swung open just as John was finishing his sentence. The sandy-haired man wore a tight smile on his face, obscured slightly by stubble.

The dark haired woman with the blonde man took a step around him, green eyes flashing as they honed in on Aubrey. "Who are you?"

"Robert. Marilyn." John's tone was measured, his words slow. "This is Aubrey. She's with me."

"We're not in a terribly trusting mood, right now, John," Marilyn snapped as she wiped a dark smudge from her forehead. Was that soot? The aromas of smoke and cinders had mixed in with the overall scent of the church.

"I can see that. But I trust the girl with my life. Meaning since we started working together, I've also trusted her with _yours,_" John replied coolly. "Like you said, Gotham can be a… _distracting _place. I wanted to bring some backup in case any distractions came along."

"Enough banter—we understand. And there are more important things to worry about right now. Things that dictate changing our plans." Rodger put a hand on Marilyn's shoulder, holding his hazel gaze steady with John's. "The two who gave us info on the mob businesses were snooping around in one of our safehouses. They can't be trusted."

"Really? Aubrey, has any information on some of your more recent targets been false?" John's voice remained cool, calm and collected as he looked towards Aubrey. She thought for a moment, then shook her head.

"No. All the names, numbers, dates, times and locations were accurate, as far as I know." Aubrey habitually clasped her hands behind her back, brushing against her tunic, easily within reach of any equipment she might need.

"If they were trying to sabotage you, why would they give you good information?" John inquired thoughtfully.

"What matters is not _why_, but how we adjust. They know about Aaron Silver. We need to deal with those who are not cooperating in a different way," Marilyn paused for a moment and looked at Rodger, "And we may need to alter the final plan. We've discovered an issue with the guest list."

* * *

"This is gonna rock." Jason had a slightly worrisome smile on his face as he continued to floor it down the dirt road. Rockton, the rural county to the west of Bludhaven, was not a place Hank had visited often, except for once or twice to go hiking with Scott. Over the roar of the engine, he heard the low whistle of a train.

"So Batgirl and I stopped a mob hit, and you and I are robbing a train." Kite watched through the windshield as the road bent in a curve to line up parallel with the train tracks. In the rearview mirror, he caught the sight of the train's lights approaching behind them.

"That's right, kid. Got a problem with that?" Red Hood pushed a button on the console, and the roof of the convertible folded back with a low whirring sound. The wind of the night ripped apart the still air around Hank's ears. Hood tilted the steering wheel gently, adjusting their course to be within a few feet of the train tracks. "Ready?!" He called loudly over the wind.

"Not even a little bit!" Hank gritted his teeth as he shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hood press another button on the console, and the car gradually slowed down, allowing the train to catch up to them before accelerating again to match the speed of the train.

"Kid, trust me, this is no big deal. I've done my homework for this. The jump is four feet. You can make it easy." Red Hood unhooked his seatbelt and slowly began to stand on his seat, gripping the top of the windshield for stability. "We may be going sixty miles an hour, but so is the train, so it will just be like jumping between two buildings. Both standing still."

At this point, the jump was only the first in a list of concerns Hank was developing. "Aren't we more in the business of _stopping _train robbers? And you never even told me _why_ we're robbing the train!" Hank joined Hood in standing on their seats.

"This is Robin training, Hank. Rule number one of being Robin is trusting Batman. Or in this case, _me._" Hood called over his shoulder as he tensed his body, bending his legs in preparation to jump. The storage car they were aligned with was devoid of people to question why two men in masks were jumping onto the train. "Rule number two is knowing when to break the rules!"

As the words left his mouth, Hood leapt from the car to the train. Time seemed to slow down as he floated through the air, stretching his arms out to grab the railing on top of the car. His hands found purchase and he used his feet to kick himself off the side of the train car and onto its roof. Hank saw his mouth open but couldn't hear him say anything. He was pretty sure it was something along the lines of "_Your turn."_

Hank moved to the front seat, putting one foot on top of the car door and gripping the windshield for support. He stared down the train car in front of him, took a deep breath, tensed his body, and exhaled forcefully as he released the tension and sprung forward. Time slowed once more. He reached out his arms, but he could already tell his jump was off.

Jason Todd was maybe two inches taller than Dick, meaning he was maybe four inches taller than Hank. Kite's arms were not long enough to grab the railing. He twisted his body to thrust his left shoulder upward and reach as high as he could with one hand. His left hand gripped the railing, and his body hit the side of the train car with a thud.

He gritted his teeth and heard a grunt escape his lips as his left hand began to open in response to the impact. He had just begun to feel himself falling when two strong hands grabbed his forearm roughly, and he was yanked up onto the train car.

Jason let out a joyous whoop as Hank groaned, lying prone on the car's roof for a moment before pushing himself slowly up. "What'd I tell you? Rule number one: trust me."

"Thanks, Hood." Hank muttered, rubbing his left shoulder gingerly as he stood up.

"No problem. Don't worry, kid, I'm not gonna let anything happen to ya. With you around, I get to call Batman _grandpa_." Hood chuckled to himself, and Hank's lips curled into a half smile. Sure, he had maybe just almost died, but Jason did seem to know what he was doing.

Kite followed as Red Hood jogged across the top of the train cars toward the back of the train, taking small, controlled leaps between cars. "You were half right, earlier," Red Hood shouted over his shoulder, "We _are_ technically robbing this train, but we're _also_ stopping smugglers from getting a shipment of experimental weapons into Metropolis."

"Experimental weapons?" Hank's eyes widened behind his plumage patterned mask.

"That's right. The kind that's supposed to hurt Super-folks. More likely, it will just put a larger number of normal people in harm's way, but neither option is great, so here we are." Hood had stopped, putting his hand up to motion Kite to halt as well. "This is our entrance. Things are going to get loud. You ready?"

Hank adjusted his gloves and nodded. Jason nodded back with a smirk before he acrobatically flipped off the roof of the train car, gripping the railing with one hand and swinging his body feet first toward the window of the car.

Hank followed as soon as he heard the glass shatter, diving in through the window and rolling as he hit the floor.

The inside of the car was more spacious than he had expected, which meant more room to move. "Howdy, ladies." Hood's voice echoed rang out in front of Kite, who counted twelve very tall women whipping their heads toward Red Hood and himself. Hank knew he had to act quickly before the surprise wore off.

He vaulted off Jason's shoulders and used his momentum to drive his heel into a collarbone, whirling around and whipping out an escrima stick before cracking it into a jaw. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Red Hood throw a strong left cross that connected with a dark haired woman's cheek, dropping her quickly.

Red Hood moved much differently than Nightwing in a fight. Though he was not quite as acrobatic, he was big, strong, and surprisingly fast. His larger frame established him as a brawler, bobbing, weaving and blocking like a boxer, before punishing with powerful blows of his own.

Another woman shouted something in a language Hank didn't recognize as she ran towards Hood in an attempt to tackle him, but he shook her off easily, kicking her into the wall with a loud crash. Hank blinked to refocus himself. _Mission. Bad guys—well, gals._

Hank and Jason continued to fight their way toward opposite sides of the train car. The womens' height was not their only notable feature. Their eyes were a bright, lime green, reminding Hank of slime he had seen in a movie about ghosts.

Kite jabbed an escrima stick into the final woman on his side of the car, discharging forty thousand volts into her body before delivering a palm strike to her sternum. "Where are the guns?" Hank finally took a moment to observe the car as more than just a battleground. Other than him, Red Hood, and the women, it seemed empty.

"I got them," Hank's gaze fell on the back of Jason's head as he stood up from a kneeling position and briskly walked toward him. "Come on, let's go."

"What? You don't have anything in your hands? Where are the guns?" There was a high pitched repeated beeping in Hank's ears. _What is that?_

"We don't have time for this, Kite!" Jason pulled a pistol from his brown jacket, firing at the lock of the emergency exit door in the car before Hank could react to the gun. "Move!"

Red Hood's car was right outside the train's door, still keeping pace with the train. Hood grabbed Kite's shoulder and positioned him in front of the door. "Jump to the back seat. Go!"

Hank wanted to argue, but the urgency in Hood's voice made him think better of talking back. He dove forward from the train, landing with a thud on the leather seats of the car with a grunt. _At least they're softer than the train car._

Hank saw a dark blur land in the driver's seat in front of him, and heard the squeal of brakes as was thrown forward. Kite gripped the seatback to keep himself from getting whiplash. "Jesus, dude, what the hell are y—"

His voice was cut off by an explosion booming across the open fields surrounding them. The train car they had just occupied had become a pillar of flame and smoke. Hank's heart pounded in his chest. The air around him pulsed in his ears, and he heard himself say "_You killed them!"_

His muscles tightened with rage. It felt strange and uncomfortable to be screaming at Jason from behind, in the back of his car, but his mouth was spitting out the words before he had time to think about them. "How could you do that, Jason?! You won't let anything happen to me, huh? You just let me become an accomplice to murder!"

"Hank." Jason had taken off his red mask. His blue eyes were dark, but radiated sincerity. "You're not an accomplice to murder."

"Wha—"

"Hank! There weren't any guns on that train. Those women weren't alive. They _were_ the experimental weapons. Androids, their entire bodies made from an alloy infused with kryptonite." Hank's breath caught in his throat. He was flooded with relief. "To you and me, they were just another thug to beat up, but to Superman or Supergirl, they're assassins. Hiding in plain sight to lure them in and kill them."

"I… I'm sorry." He felt irritation with himself, and perhaps a bit of shame for blowing up at Jason so quickly. Tonight had been about trust, and as soon as things seemed to go awry, Hank had abandoned all trust in his substitute teacher.

"Hey, come on, kid, it's all good. You know how many times I went off on Batman? How many shouting matches _Dick_ started with him?" A small smile had appeared on Jason's face as he started the car again. "Trust goes both ways. We were supposed to trust him, but we also kept him honest. Just like you keep Dick honest. You did good tonight, Kite."

"Hmm. Thanks, man." A small feeling of pride began to well in Hank's chest.

"Alright, time to celebrate. What's the best dive bar in Bludhaven?"

"I'm not twenty-one, Jason."

"Trust me, we'll get you in there. I have a way with bouncers."


	21. Family Values Part 9

"So it went well, then?" Nightwing called to his protege as he sidestepped a punch and drove his elbow into the chest of his assailant.

"For the most part, yeah. No one died, so that's good." Kite faced away from his mentor as he rained a flurry of blows down on the two black-and-white-clad thugs on either side of him. Hank's voice sounded slightly distant as it reverberated off the storage container in front of him and back to Dick's ears. "I know that part of the lesson was about trust, but I still wish Red Hood would have told me from the beginning that we were up against robots."

"_Are you going to tell him?" Barbara's words sounded clearly in Dick's ears, but it took him a moment to understand what she said. He continued to stare at the floor of the batcave as he paced back and forth. "Dick?"_

"_Sorry, Babs." Dick shook his head quickly, trying to get himself to focus. "I really don't know. I remember early on I promised myself I wasn't going to keep secrets from him. I mean it never worked out well when you did that with me." _

_Dick glanced toward Bruce for a moment, who was sitting in front of the batcomputer in a familiar pose, with his hands clasped in front of his face._

"_What are you thinking now?" Bruce asked. His expression did not reveal any emotion or intent either way, but his tone was decidedly gentle._

"_It's different than I thought. I mean I'm training him. Giving him skills and tools to stop criminals from hurting people. It feels like I have a lot of responsibility for what he does. And if he learns that his parents are one: alive; and two: fugitives and basically terrorists, what is he going to do?"_

"_Do you trust him?" Barbara was less gentle and less masking of her feelings. This was a pointedly rhetorical question. She _knew _Dick trusted Hank, and was reminding him that he should trust his partner to handle traumatic news, even news like this, appropriately._

"_I do. Of course I do." Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked toward Bruce again. "What are _you _thinking?"_

"_I want to respect your relationship with your partner, Dick. I wouldn't want to give unwanted advice." Bruce paused for a moment and closed his eyes. His piercing blue orbs opened and he continued, "In my own experience… You're right that when I kept secrets from you, it caused rifts in our relationship. But whenever I kept things from you, it was because I thought doing so would keep you safe. And I believe, many times, it did."_

"_I'd like to offer a counterpoint, if that's alright, sir." Alfred's crisp accent cut through the brief moment of silence as Dick absorbed Bruce's words. "All three of you have lost parents. Would you not want to be told if they were alive? Regardless of what they were doing?"_

"_Finally someone starts talking sense around here." Barbara shook her head with a small smile._

"_Thank you Alfred—Thank all of you." Dick said, offering the best smile he could muster to Alfred, despite his mind still swimming with anxiety._

"Right." Dick frowned as the final thug left standing attempted to run away. A wingding streaked through the air right in front of the man's face, causing him to stop dead in his tracks.

"Listen man, you can do the whole 'run away' thing, but odds aren't really in your favor." Hank waved a blue-gloved hand toward the halted man. "We're both pretty quick, and we can also throw stuff at you. So, you know, it's easier for everyone if you just stay still and talk to us."

Despite the nagging in the back of his mind, Dick couldn't help but smile at his pupil, watching as he walked casually toward the man, who had wisely decided to turn around and face them with his hands high in the air. "What's your name, guy?"

"I'm not telling you anything. I want a lawyer." The man's voice didn't waiver—appearing to radiate confidence. But his body was stiff—very clearly not making any sudden moves. Nightwing heard his partner sigh very audibly.

"Look, brother. We're not the fuzz. No badges, no Miranda Rights—no rules in general, really." Hank placed handcuffs on the Jed's wrists and ankles. "And that guy over there—" Hank nodded toward Dick—"Was raised by Batman. You think just because he's pretty he doesn't know how to make you talk? Tell him your name, doofus."

"It—It's Jed." Now Jed spoke quickly, nervously.

"Jed, what are you and your friends doing in my city? Is Cobblepot hoping to build a vacation nest here?" Nightwing folded his arms across his chest.

Jed swallowed before answering. "We were just moving some supplies here to fence them. That's it! I swear!"

Nightwing's jaw set below his mask. "Alright, Jed. You'd better just wait here for the police, or you'll be easy for us to find. You look ridiculous in those cuffs."

Hank and Dick grappled up to the roof of the nearby power plant before Dick finally blurted out the words he'd been dreading all night. "We need to talk."

"Boy, that sounds dramatic." Hank's eyebrows rose just slightly above his mask. "What's up?"

"Hank, you know Aaron Silver, the man we interrogated at the casino a few nights back? The one who was found dead in his apartment after a fire?" Hank nodded his head at Dick's words. "He was murdered, Hank. The fire wasn't caused by accident."

"What? Really? Do you know who did it?"

"I do. That's what I've been working on while you've been getting your lessons from the rest of the bat-fam." Dick paused for a moment, looking away from Kite's face and out over the city skyline. "The people who set the fire… I had my suspicions at first, but figured I was just being paranoid. But the other night, I found out I was right."

"Di—Nightwing." Hank caught himself. "What's the matter? Why are you so worked up about this?"

"Your parents set the fire, Hank. They're alive. Rodger and Mary Duncan killed Aaron Silver. They've been responsible for fires all along the east coast, even the one that supposedly killed them." Dick looked back toward his young partner, his face contorted in discomfort. "I'm sorry, Hank."

Hank's expression was tough to make out behind his mask. His lips were pursed tightly, and he didn't move for a few moments. Dick would have given anything for him to say something to break the silence. He wasn't sure what to expect from his protege. He clenched and unclenched his fists in anticipation.

An eternity passed, possibly multiple eternities, before Hank pulled his phone out from a pocket of his belt. He glanced at it quickly, his expression finally changing to a small frown as he tilted his head slightly. "I gotta go. Real life stuff, not superhero stuff."

Dick watched in disbelief and confusion as his partner shot his grapple out across the rooftops and swung away into the night air.

* * *

Hank approached the burgundy door of the Carters' brownstone apartment. Liz's text said her parents were away in Metropolis visiting a property her mother was developing, but he still felt the urge to keep quiet with his knocking, as it was 1:17 in the morning.

He tapped his knuckles on the dark red wood three times, paused, and then gave a fourth knock. The door opened quickly, only a small amount, and a hand reached out to usher him inside.

Liz's hasty closing of the door wasn't exactly a _slam_, but it was certainly audible within the apartment walls. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not a child, Henry." Liz's tone was curt as she locked and deadbolted the door. "I'm not a damsel in distress who needs you to save her. I'm just positive that I saw someone following me on my way home, and living alone on the ground level is statistically unsafe for women."

Liz spun on her heel to face him, her jaw set and her eyes dark with intensity. Hank felt a smile crawl across his face. "Of course, Elizabeth. I had no intention of implying you were a… damsel. I should have phrased my question differently: How are you doing?"

Liz's pursed lips quirked a bit, and she stepped forward to pull him into a hug. "Thank you for coming, Hank," she said quietly. Hank pushed the thought of her blonde hair smelling like strawberries to the back of his head to join a cluster of other ideas he needed to avoid thinking about at the moment. "I'm sorry I snapped—to be honest I _am _a little bit freaked out."

"Hey, if I thought someone was stalking me I'd be freaked out, too. What did he look like?" Hank gripped Liz's shoulders firmly, hoping to reassure her.

"I'm not sure, exactly. I don't even know if it was a '_he_'." Liz turned away and walked toward the tall grandfather clock next to the fireplace. "For the first few blocks I could see a glimpse of someone wearing a hood over my shoulder, but once I got past Fourth Street, I couldn't see anyone."

"Fourth Street…" Hank mused, pulling a curtain just slightly to peer out the nearby window. _The divide between Liz's residential borough, Temper Park, and the financial district. _

"I still felt something—you know, tingling on the back of my neck—like someone was following me," Liz paused, "I wonder if… My parents have been talking about burglaries happening to their friends. Someone breaking in to steal valuables, a lot of times family heirlooms, just in the last few days. They said ten or twelve of their friends had made discreet police reports."

Hank's eyes widened as he turned back to Liz. What she described sounded awfully familiar—but twelve jobs in just a few days—how was Aubrey moving so fast?

"What do you think someone would want to steal from—" Hank frowned, a realization coming over him. "The rooftops. You didn't see her past Fourth street because she was able to travel on rooftops of Temper Park where the buildings are shorter."

"She? How do you know she's a she?" Liz questioned, her face puzzled.

"Just a hunch, I guess. Something I read online about a local cat burglar sighting," Hank muttered quickly, furrowing his brow and cursing himself for carelessly thinking out loud.

"So you _did _know about people getting valuables stolen?" Liz had folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. Briefly, a frightening thought passed through Hank's mind. _She knows. _But there was no real reason to suspect that Liz knew anything about his night job. He hadn't done anything to incriminate himself. "I guess you're already on the case, huh?"

_What? _"What?" Hank did a double take. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Henry. You know me. I'm going to NYU to study _vigilante psychology._" Liz said quietly, stepping toward him. _This isn't happening. _

"Look, Liz, I saw some stuff on Twitter about a Bludhaven cat burglar. I'm not _investigating._" Hank shook his head and laughed quietly, immediately regretting acting so condescendingly to his friend. "And I don't dress up in a costume and beat up muggers." Another pause. He hated lying. "Anyway, maybe you should call the police."

Liz frowned and grabbed her laptop from the couch, opening it swiftly and plunking at the keyboard. She looked at the screen and read aloud: "Nightwing's sidekick—" _Sidekick? Ouch._ "Kite—Was first sighted a month ago. Is described by witnesses as six foot, caucasian, dirty blonde hair, roughly 160 pounds." She looked back up to Hank, her narrowed blue eyes giving him a deliberately slow once once over.

Hank opened his mouth to continue to _deny, deny, deny_, but the sound of glass shattering in the other room interrupted him. His body's response was automatic, three quick steps toward the kitchen, his eyes spotting and processing the scene before him.

A broken window, a lithe figure clad in brown leather garb, with a hood covering their face. _Her face._

She was startled by his sudden appearance. Hank sprung forward again, not thinking about if she recognized him; no playful banter rising from his throat. This was not a fun night of superheroing with Nightwing. This was his friend's—_well, something like that_—home.

He feinted a right cross, and Aubrey fell for it, stepping to his right and sacrificing her balance to avoid the punch. _No, not Aubrey. _As Hank hooked her left leg with his right, he realized this was not his old friend, though they seemed to shop at the same stores.

Her frame was similar, tall and slender like a dancer, but her body language was different. Clearly not as confident or as skilled as Aubrey. Hank suspected that loudly shattering the glass window wasn't part of the plan, nor was having to deal with a part-time vigilante.

He brought her to the ground, his body still on auto pilot, his right arm barring across her neck, his left hand pulling her arm behind her back. _Is this a copycat burglar? Is that even a thing?_

"What are you here for?" Hank hissed into the young woman's ear. Something platinum blonde flashed in his peripheral vision. His eyes darted upward, taking in Liz Carter standing in the kitchen doorway, bright blue eyes _very_ wide.

_Shit._ _That's what you get for acting and not thinking, Duncan._ _How do you explain this?_ His internal argument took just enough of his attention away for the young girl's hand to get free. Before Hank could react, an elbow hit his stomach hard, and dark smoke filled the air around him, burning his eyes.

Hank wheezed, covering his mouth and nose with his black tee shirt. He heard his name in Liz's voice, and he stumbled toward the sound.

He emerged from the smoke, and Liz started to grab for his hands, but he pulled away, coughing hard. "Sorry," He choked out. "I have to—" he was interrupted by another coughing fit.

"You have to go." The image of Liz was shimmering like a heat mirage through his bleary eyes. Something was pressed into his hands. His bag. "I'm not going to say 'be careful'."

Hank half-coughed and half-laughed as he stepped toward the shattered window. He should have known better than to try and keep secrets from Elizabeth Carter. The smoke had cleared, and he glimpsed the young woman's silhouette against the dim glow of the city lights.

"We can, uh… Talk about this later." He muttered as he leapt out the window. _Smooth as ever, Hank._

* * *

Aubrey gazed out at the Bludhaven skyline against the background of the coast. The buildings here were vastly different from those in her hometown. Gotham had its share of neon signs and bright lights, but they were contained within Amusement Mile and the Cauldron, and generally associated with seedy, crime-infested areas.

Compared to Gotham's dreary, dark, and—well, gothic—architecture, it was like there was a carnival all throughout the city of Bludhaven. Casinos, various business districts, the neighborhoods and boroughs, the boardwalk, the ports… All of it was always infected with some amount of dim light.

Of course, she also had a love for the foreboding towers, bridges, and tunnels of Gotham. The rooftop she stood on reminded her of a similar one in Burnside. A brand new apartment complex, filled with young adults who were successful enough to afford it, or had their rent paid by their parents. A mix of the gothic-revival styles Gotham was famous for, and some new age Frank Lloyd Wright details to draw in the people full of youth and full of pocket.

Aubrey's architectural musings were interrupted by a familiar, annoying buzzing. She snatched the small burner phone from a pocket in her cloak and flipped it open. "Yes?"

"I need help!" The voice on the phone was urgent, followed by several shallow breaths. Clearly Kiera was getting a workout in.

"What's wrong?"

"I screwed up! Some guy was at my mark, and he caught me as soon as I got in. He moved so fast, and I was startled because I accidentally shattered the window—"

"Kiera. Stop. less talking, more breathing and running. He's following you, right?" Aubrey turned her back to the coast and glared southwest, across the financial district and toward the Temper Borough.

"Yeah." Kiera was still sucking in breath, but sounded calmer than before. Aubrey shook her head. she had a feeling something like this would happen. Too many moving parts tonight—too many jobs and not enough experience.

"Stay on Metro Road and keep running. You're going to cut through the Dexter Lofts building on Ninth Street—the fifth floor, third window from the left. It's open. Close it behind you and hideout until I call you. I'll take care of your tail."

"Almost there!" Upon hearing Kiera's reply, Aubrey was just able to glimpse a lithe silhouette bounding across the rooftops to the southwest. Another silhouette, slightly larger, was following, about forty yards behind.

Aubrey reached into her right boot to retrieve a hook before leaping off the apartment building's roof, catching the hook on the zipline she had set up there previously for her escape. She landed with a graceful roll on the Dexter Lofts' rooftop, then sprinted ahead.

She stopped short at the edge of the loft rooftop, a few stories higher than the roof where Kiera fire her own zipline into the window Aubrey had left open and take a running start to slide down the line.

As she disappeared from Aubrey's view, Aubrey shifted her gaze toward the shadow following her. Her eyes briefly widened in surprise, but then she shook her head. Perhaps she should have known Kiera's issues would be the fault of the masked blonde boy.

'Kite' was dressed differently tonight, not in his brown and blue kevlar uniform, but civilian clothes. A tee shirt and jeans, both blacker than Bludhaven's neon-tinted night sky. As before, he looked vaguely familiar, but his offwhite mask prevented any possibility of Aubrey recognizing him past that.

Taking three steps backward and timing herself carefully, she took a running leap through the air, colliding with the very surprised Kite before she could hit the rooftop itself and risk injuring herself.

"Oof!" The young man grunted as the pair tumbled across the concrete. They both got up quickly, and when Aubrey's eyes found his face again, there was no trace of the near-permanent half smile he wore during their previous encounter. A grimly set jaw and pursed lips moved only to bark: "So there are two of you?"

Aubrey almost felt concerned for the absence of the good-natured banter, but she had to stay focused on helping Kiera get away. "Sure, why not?" Without thinking, she had pitched her voice into the confident, airy tone she used when talking to a man with an expensive watch.

"Why are you trying to steal from George and Elaine Carter?" Kite's face remained hard. Aubrey made a mental note that her previous exit strategy may not be as effective tonight.

"It's really as simple as them being wealthy and having expensive things." Apparently the young man was not aware of the real reason for Kiera's visit to the Carter residence. Kite lunged forward faster than Aubrey could anticipate, and as she attempted to sidestep him, he caught one of her shoulders and bent her right arm behind her back.

"Stay away—" _THOOOOM. _A booming crash of sound drowned out whatever Kite was going to say next, and Aubrey's eyes widened in fear as orange flames bloomed from the Dexter Lofts. Specifically from the fifth floor, the third window from the left.

* * *

"I'm afraid there's been a change in your plans, Cobblepot." Generally, Nightwing tried to put at least a small edge in his tone when speaking to criminals. At the moment, the edge came hard and without much effort on his part.

On top of everything else that Dick had to deal with over the past few days, the Penguin was in _his _city. A known criminal—and frankly, Dick's least favorite class of crook.

For years, Oswald Cobblepot conducted his illegal operations practically in the public eye of Gotham. His old money bought him many of the politicians and police officers who should have been trying to stop him from stealing from the hard working people of Gotham. Instead, he was almost a local celebrity.

In his time as Robin, Dick and Batman had thwarted many off-the-books sales of drugs, weapons, or any sort of stolen goods. However, in most cases, the Penguin was always too far removed from the incidents to pin the crimes on him. In many instances where there _was_ enough evidence to warrant a trial, the portion of the District Attorney's office in Cobblepot's pocket let him off with warnings, fines, or minimum sentences.

"I assure you, boy, I have no idea what you're talking about, nor what you're doing here." Cobblepot's thick cockney accent had allegedly developed while he attended finishing school across the pond, but Nightwing had heard many murmurs and whispers from his thugs about the accent being a facade to seem more aristocratic.

At some point, Penguin 'went straight'. He claimed to focus purely on his Iceberg Lounge to garner money and power. Of course, the lounge attracted just as many of Gotham's corrupt elite as it did law abiding citizens.

Furthermore, Nightwing and Kite had still found a pack of his goons trying to smuggle stolen goods into Bludhaven just a few hours prior. And to top it all off, Oswald was here, on the roof of the Blud Harbor Hotel.

"For one, whatever meeting you have planned here, is canceled, and so is your '_benefit dinner_'." Dick's voice was low, steady, and all business. No lighthearted Robin quips entered his mind.

"Is that so? _Nightwing_ prefers that I cancel an event to raise money for the Cobblepot Foundation? A charity organization that provides educational scholarships to underprivileged children all over the eastern seaboard?" As per usual, Cobblepot's came in a constant sneer. Condescending, holier-than-thou, desperately trying to convince his audience that he was better than them. "What do the kids say these days? '_Not a good look_' for your brand, Boy Wonder."

Dick stood up from his crouched position on the edge of the rooftop, taking a few steps toward the Penguin. As Robin, Cobblepot was the first criminal he was able to look down on. Dick was twelve when he surpassed the five-foot-two man in height. Of course, the original Robin also knew better than anyone not to underestimate someone based on their size.

"Come on, Os. You've known me a long time. Between the two of us, who does the media like more?" Nightwing allowed himself a small smirk as he spoke. Best not to go too _Batman_ too fast. "And to think, _I_ didn't have to spend a dime on them."

"I'm afraid even threats from the great Nightwing will not impair my passion for educating the young and needy." If nothing else came from tonight, provoking Cobblepot's angry growl and scrunched up face was one tally in the win-column for Dick. "Now if you'll excuse me, I was hoping to enjoy a peaceful evening."

"Here's the deal, Penguin. I don't know exactly what, how, or why, but someone has plans for your benefit dinner. Maybe you even know about them." Dick took another step forward toward Penguin, his face now devoid of the usual Nightwing smirk. The back of his mind displayed an image of Hank's name on the guest list. "I _do_ know they're the kind of plans that could get people hurt. And I'm not going to let that happen. I guarantee that if something goes down at _your_ event, it will _not_ be a good look for the Cobblepot brand. And on top of that you'll have me to deal with."

This wasn't even close to the Penguin's first rodeo—he wouldn't be intimidated as easily as his hired help, Jed, was earlier that night. The HUD of Dick's mask showed no change in his heartbeat. "As much as you might wish otherwise, boy, I'm here in Bludhaven on business. _Legal_ business. As in not breaking any laws. And my benefit dinner will be equally legal."

"For someone doing '_legal_' business, you have a lot of pictures of stolen valuables on your hard drive," Nightwing shot back.

"Once again, I've no idea what you mean. And even if I did have such pictures, obtaining them without a warrant would absolutely not hold up in a court of law." Cobblepot removed his monocle momentarily to clean it with his pocket handkerchief, and turned his back to Dick.

Dick clenched his teeth and began to step toward Penguin's line of sight, but before he opened his mouth to speak, he heard a muffled crunch of gravel behind him. Nightwing turned his shoulders as he vaulted forward, gracefully springing off the cement with his hands and landing facing his assailant.

A tall, lean figure loomed behind him wearing brown leather armor and a gray hooded cloak. A very similar uniform to the thief Nightwing caught a glimpse of in the Silver Lining Casino, but the person before him had the body of a full grown man, not a young woman as Hank had described.

Nightwing's eyes narrowed behind the whiteout lens of his domino mask as he caught sight of a small dagger in the left hand of the hooded man. The stolen valuables on Penguin's computer and this thief's appearance couldn't be a coincidence.

"Who are you?" Dick barked the question out of habit, and received no answer. Not one of the more eccentric villains with a pathological need for their name to rise to infamy.

Instead, the man shot forward, swiping the dagger at Dick without warning. Nightwing leaned back to avoid the blade, dropping his weight and twisting while extending his leg to trip the man.

Nightwing's attacker was ready, rolling gracefully over his back and slashing across his ribs, the blade cutting through a chink in the former Boy Wonder's black and blue armor. Dick winced in pain and surprise at the man's expertise, as his attacker came out of the roll behind him and attempted to stab forward with the dagger. Nightwing deflected with the staves on his gauntlet, knocking the dagger from the man's hand.

Dick took advantage of the man's surprise with two quick jabs to his torso. The blows glanced off the leather armor, but they served their purpose to hold the man's attention as Nightwing whirled into a roundhouse kick.

As Nightwing's heel connected with the hooded man's right shoulder, his hood was knocked off, revealing short, jet black hair and hard blue eyes. The lower half of the man's face was covered by a mask, but from what Dick could see, his face was reminiscent of paintings of European royalty.

The man stood up straight once again after recovering from the kick, and raised a hand into the air. Suddenly, half a dozen cloaked figures appeared in a half circle around Nightwing, swinging in on grapples, sliding down ziplines, or climbing up from the edge of the roof.

"You're outnumbered, but we don't need to hurt you. Leave us to speak with Mr. Cobblepot." The dark-haired man's voice was icy as he pulled his hood back over his head.

"Are you kidding? _You _attacked _me_, Lord of the Rings_._" Dick spat as he felt the sliced skin around his ribs throb. He glanced over to Penguin, who stood with his arms folded, watching with pursed lips. Nightwing glowered as he briefly assessed the situation.

The figures around him were all smaller than the taller leader. Were they children? Maybe Hank's age? Even injured as he was, he'd faced worse odds than this, but this renaissance-fair-gang was probably better trained than the mooks who acted as muscle for Penguin or Two-Face.

A loud, shrill beeping burst out from Nightwing's wrist. "Ah shit." He muttered aloud as he gave his gauntlet two swift taps. "Oh no."

Dick didn't have time to look back, tapping his gauntlet again to signal his motorcycle as he sprinted to the edge of the roof and leapt into the night air. All the while, a message flashed in bright red on his mask's HUD.

'_KITE: VITALS CRITICAL'._


	22. Family Values Part 10

**Thirteen Minutes Ago.**

A year ago, upon seeing a large explosion erupt out of a nearby apartment complex, Henry Duncan would probably have run away and maybe called nine-one-one. However, since he had met Nightwing, Hank's first thought when seeing such a disaster was more like: _I have to get in there._

Though his ears were ringing from the explosion, he heard a vague shout from the young woman next to him as released her from his grip in order to open his backpack. He fished around for what felt like ages before finding a rebreather mask, and then another.

He put one mask on and extended his arm to hand the other to Aubrey, who was standing still, staring at the building. "Hey!" Hank snapped. "Get it together. Are you coming or not?"

Every passing second meant less oxygen, more fire and smoke, and more people in danger. There was no time to wait around for Aubrey—luckily she snatched the rebreather from his hand and strapped it on, her silver eyes glinting with determination.

Hank nodded silently and fired his grapple toward the top of the Dexter Lofts. He aimed for a window in the middle of the building, one window to the right of the origin of the explosion. As he swung, he retrieved two small pellets from his belt, flinging them in front of him.

The pellets exploded into a yellowish foam that corroded the window in front of him in a matter of seconds, allowing for a smooth entrance. Aubrey's landing next to him was inaudible, but he felt a soft vibration as she gracefully set her own feet down.

The room was already filled with smoke and embers, pouring out from a large hole in the wall made by the explosion in the adjoining room. Kite dashed forward and dove through the hole, rolling as he landed and staying low to the ground to avoid the smoke.

Bright orange flames licked at every corner of the room, blurring his vision even through his mask. As Aubrey appeared over his shoulder, Hank reached into his belt again, this time throwing three small black orbs, which hissed as they landed in front of him, spewing a white bubbling foam that grew and absorbed a small portion of the blaze.

"Kiera!" Kite heard Aubrey's voice to the side of him as she brushed past his shoulder in a blur. The liquid nitrogen capsules that Nightwing had told him about did little more than make a small dent in the fire, but it did help to make his vision a bit clearer.

Aubrey was crouched on a section of tile floor that was untouched by the flames, attempting to lift the remains of a large granite table. Hank leapt over a stretch of fire and crouched on the other side of the table's remains, opposite of Aubrey.

"On three," Aubrey shouted over the roar of the fire. "One, two, three!"

Kite squeezed his core tight and drove his heels into the floor, extending his legs with a grunt and miraculously feeling the tabletop lift from the ground. Underneath the rubble, the young woman he had met in Liz's brownstone lay unmoving.

Kiera's forehead had a nasty gash in it, and her skin had turned red from the heat of the room. Hank and Aubrey shoved the table to the side, and Hank hoisted her onto his shoulder with another grunt, though luckily the girl wasn much lighter than the table.

"Got a pulse." Hank said quickly as he removed his fingers from her throat and used his free hand to take his rebreather off so he could place it on the unconscious young girl. He marched forward, quickly realizing he would not have to kick the apartment door open because the entire door was gone, replaced by a flame-lined gap in the apartment's drywall.

He jogged out of the hole carefully, using his free arm to cover his mouth. The fire had spread down the hallway a ways, but the sprinkler system had activated, mitigating the damage. Staying careful not to jostle Kiera around too much over his shoulder, Hank made it to the stairwell door, away from the flames but still clouded with smoke.

Aubrey took Kiera into her arms as soon as Kite set her down, and he paused for a moment to make sure both of the women were alright before spinning on his heel and running back toward the blaze.

As Hank was running, another loud _BOOM_ sounded from the apartment he was just in. He quickened his pace to a sprint, coughing lightly into his arm as he leapt back into the inferno. The apartment's water heater had exploded due to the heat and pressure, revealing a large hole in the floor.

Though he felt the echo of the explosion reverberating through his ears, Kite managed to hear a weak cry below him. He dropped through the hole, passing through a blossom of smoke. He ignored the coughing fit his body was thrust into as he made his way toward the soft sobs he heard.

A small boy sat in the corner of the room, his face buried into his arms, which were wrapped tightly around his knees. The flames hadn't yet reached the corner where the boy sat.

"Hey!" Kite called to the young blonde boy. The boy, who couldn't have been more than six, raised his blonde head, revealing brown eyes glistening with tears and a face dark with soot. The boy cried out again upon seeing Hank, and his limbs flailed desperately in an attempt to push himself further into the corner away from Hank.

Hank thought of Tanner, and his stomach knotted up. Then he remembered his brother's story about being saved from a shootout in a convenience store by Batman and Robin.

"_Jared and I were scared, but Robin was very nice. He said Batman would get the shooters, and he would take care of us. Jared kept freaking out, so he took of his mask to show us he was just a kid like us." _

Even in the midst of a disaster, Hank's mouth turned up into a soft smile. He was still learning from Dick even when he wasn't around, and he was still learning from Tanner as well, even about the superhero gig. Hank peeled off his white mask, wincing slightly at the spirit gum coming off his face.

"It's okay!" Hank held up his hands in a gesture of peace to the young boy. "My name's Hank. What's your name?"

The boy's brown eyes widened as he stammered. "I—i—it's Josh."

"Hi, Josh." Hank tried to put all the warmth he could into his tone. "Can you come with me? I want to get you out of here."

Josh nodded, and Hank scooped him up quickly over his shoulder, crouching as he walked through the flames. Kite's lungs felt completely empty, and his vision was blurring more every second, but he pushed away the dizziness as he coughed his way through the room.

The door to Josh's apartment was still intact, but Hank knew before reaching for the doorknob that it would be blazing hot to the touch. He took as deep a breath he could, mostly inhaling smoke.

"Hold your breath and hold onto me tight, okay, Josh?" Hank managed to get the words out between coughs. He put all the force he could into his kick, and as his foot met the door he felt a very hard pinch in his ankle.

The door gave way nonetheless, and Hank had to ignore the pain for the moment as he adjusted Josh quickly to be wrapped in his arms at his torso rather than over his shoulder. Just as Hank knew, the door opening caused a backdraft, resulting in the fire roaring to new life behind him.

The force of the blaze pushed him, and Hank stumbled forward through the doorway. Between his vision, his ankle, and his lungs, Hank was not sure how he was still standing at the moment, other than his determination to make sure this young boy made it out of the inferno.

He felt water coming down on him from above, and did his best to move with Josh away from the blurry orange blobs to his right. Large white spots obscured his view, his throat was dry and scratchy, and his ankle was _very_ unhappy with him continuing to put weight on it.

Suddenly, despite all his desire to get Josh away from the fire, his body stopped listening to him. He heard a high pitched beeping echoing from his midsection. His belt? He felt an arm wrap around his waist as the blurred world around him finally faded into a sheet of white static.

* * *

**NOW.**

Dick remembered being outraged when he found out about a tracking chip that Bruce had implanted in his arm. Even though the tracker allowed Batman to save him when he had been caught off guard by Bane while on solo patrol, Dick felt that his privacy was violated, as well as his trust.

However, since then Dick recalled many instances when he wore the cowl with Damian at his side, where he was grateful for the ability to find the tenacious (if not pigheaded) Robin. With Hank, Dick proposed an alteration on Bruce's original concept.

"_It's just a precautionary measure, you know? And it's completely up to you." This was one of the first instances where Dick felt the need to use his serious voice with his protege. "I won't know where you are unless you're in danger. You'll still have your independence, your privacy." _

_Hank let out two short laughs, and a small snort. "Dick. It's cool, man. I'm down. And really, even if you could look me up whenever you wanted, it's not like I have anything to hide from you."_

"_I'm not worried about that at all, Hank. I just… Look, overall, Batman did a good job. But I want to do this _my _way." Dick paused. "I have to, for me. Is that okay with you?" _

"_Yes sir, Nightwing, sir." Hank saluted, his expression turned exaggeratedly serious. Dick rolled his eyes, wondering how many time Bruce had to deal with this sort of thing from him._

"Dick. Looks like he's awake." Dick shot up from the chair, rubbing his eyes, which were bleary from staring at the computer screen. Tim Drake briefly glanced his way before returning to his work, poking and prodding at the circuit board of the small black device given to Dick by the young woman who had been with Hank a few hours earlier.

Dick's eyes found the small screen in front of Tim featuring video footage from the infirmary. A sandy blonde head had risen from the pillow on which it previously rested, and was turning around to take in its surroundings. "Thanks, Tim." Dick strode through the doorway and then stopped short. "Making any headway?"

"Sort of." Tim put down his tools for a moment. "There's no timer, so it's definitely motion sensitive. But, there's no way to manually arm it, so it must have to receive some sort of signal. If I can figure out the frequency and signal situation, I might be able to disarm the rest of them."

"You're the man, Red Robin." Dick shot a grin Tim's way before exiting the room and turning the corner to the makeshift infirmary he hoped never to have to use when he had it constructed in his gym's basement.

"How do I look? Be honest." Hank's voice was rough, unsurprisingly, due to all the smoke he inhaled hours earlier. Dick laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head. Henry Duncan could always think of a witty quip in situations like these—he wanted to convince people around him that he was just fine, that he didn't need help.

"You look like you got blown up. How do you feel?" Dick asked his pupil with a smirk.

"Yeah, that's about how I feel." Hank softly smiled back at Dick, then his expression quirked with curiosity. "How did you find me?"

"Your vitals dropped below critical levels, bonehead."

"Ah. So you pulled me out of the fire? Wait—is the kid okay? Josh?" Hank's scratchy voice was suddenly filled with concern.

"He's fine, Hank."

"How do you know? And what about—the girl who got caught in the explosion?"

"Red Robin—he's a friend—took them both to Haven Med Center. The girl was checked in as a Jane Doe…" Just as Hank relaxed back against the pillow, he shot up back up again in a coughing fit.

"My—mask," he managed to croak the words out between coughs.

"It was on you when I found you." Dick kept his tone even as he spoke, though he felt the warmth of irritation on the back of his neck. "It wasn't me who pulled you out of the fire."

"Oh." Hank's scratchy voice was quiet. He turned to the table beside his cot to grab a bottle of water, from which he took a quick drink.

Dick pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat, folding his arms. "Yeah. Now we'd better chat about that." Hank eyed his mentor carefully, taking another drink before opening his mouth to speak.

"Long story short—I know the girl. The one who must've pulled me from the fire. Her name is Aubrey. The last time I saw her, I was twelve, maybe thirteen. But then, when I was out with Batgirl and I chased after her, her hood came off for a second… And tonight, she must have seen me without my mask, when I took it off so I wouldn't scare that little boy." Hank trailed off for a moment and stared at his hands. His next words were quiet. "I'm sorry, Dick."

Dick frowned, not out of disappointment, but curiosity. "Well that does explain a few things I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

"Well she was _very_ concerned about you when I got there. And then she just started talking to me, rapid fire, without any prompting."

Dick recounted the young woman's words to his wide-eyed partner. Aubrey said that she was supposed to bug a specific apartment—the same one that exploded. She hadn't been told that she was actually planting a bomb rather than a microphone.

As Dick spoke, Hank's jaw became set, his lips pursed. "Her friend—the unconscious one—was apparently doing the same thing at the Carter residence, which I assume is how you got involved in this."

"Yeah." Hank's expression was blank as he stared straight ahead at the wall. Several seconds of silence passed between mentor and mentee.

"Hey, Dick, I've got something." A voice called from the doorway of the infirmary.

"Hit me, Tim." Dick started, then caught himself. "Oh, wait, first; Tim Drake—Hank Duncan. Kite—Red Robin." Dick nodded back and forth between the young men throughout his introduction.

"Nice to meet you." Tim said cheerily, either unaware or purposely ignoring the tension of the room.

Hank cleared his throat. "Uh, hi."

Tim nodded back before speaking again. "I found the frequency the bombs are running on, and I can disarm them, at least temporarily. I also triangulated their locations. But there are even more than we thought. Four in Metropolis, three in Gotham, and three more here in Bludhaven."

"So we divide and conquer. Can you upload the locations to the computer and send them to the family's comm-links?" Dick shifted into leadership-mode, and although the Titans might have had more raw power than the Bat-Family, the family was a well-oiled machine.

No hotheads, no drama, no glory-hounds, just highly trained people doing what needed to be done. "When Batgirl gets here, you two take the ones in the 'Haven. Call Red Hood—he should still be in Metropolis, and I bet Supergirl would be willing to help there, too, if she hasn't taken care of them already." Tim nodded in agreement and tapped his gauntlet to activate his comm-link on the way out of the room. Dick did the same, tapping his gauntlet with one finger and putting the other to his earpiece.

"Hey, it's me. Did you get what Tim sent you? I'm on the way." Dick turned to leave the room, but was stopped by a scratchy-voiced call from his partner.

"Whoa, whoa, what's happening? Am I, like, grounded or what?" Hank's palms were turned upward slightly in a questioning gesture. Dick breathed out a quiet laugh.

"You're not grounded, chainsmoker. You're just on injury reserve. Don't worry, we've got it."

* * *

Aubrey's grip on her grapple line tightened, her knuckles white under her gloves, as she stared through the window at her injured friend. The dark haired young man in the red costume, Red Robin, had assured her that Kiera was in good hands at Haven Medical Center, but she had heard that before.

"_Your brother will be just fine. It's just a minor cardiac dysrhythmia." _

In a matter of days, the doctor's message had changed to:

"_We're doing everything we can, but Jared needs specific expertise. St. Mary's in Metropolis has the nation's leading cardiac unit."_

Aubrey's expression morphed into a dark grimace at the memories. St. Mary's was also one of the most expensive hospitals in the nation. And believe it or not, two orphaned kids had no health insurance.

She gazed at Kiera's heart rate monitor, and could almost hear the slow, rhythmic beeping as the green line traced itself across the black screen. A flash of lights entered her mind, and an irregular beeping filled her ears, following no rhythm but speeding up constantly.

Rage welled up in her chest, and she kicked off the glass window, not bothering to remain silent when doing so, so she swung away from the building with a soft _thunk._

Her anger fueled her on as she sprinted across the rooftops toward the Blud Harbor Hotel. With all of her energy focused on one thing, time flew as she ran, and before she knew it, she was picking the lock of the balcony doors of the twenty-fifth floor penthouse.

"Aubrey!" It was rare that John carried surprise in his voice, but as he sat in an armchair, still in his 'work clothes', Aubrey knew she had caught him off guard. A small feeling of joy swam around briefly in the waves of anger she felt within her. "I wasn't expecting you. How did things go tonight?"

"Kiera is in the hospital, John." She had thought of many more dramatic, cleverer opening lines while on the way here, but in the moment, she felt it would be silly to say anything other than the truth.

"What?"

"She was caught in an explosion. From a bomb that _I_ planted." Aubrey's teeth were gritted, she felt her fists clenched tightly. Her gloves saved her palms from being cut into by her nails. "On orders from _you._"

She had never spoken to John in this tone. Perhaps she had never spoken to anyone in this tone. But Kiera was the closest thing Aubrey had to family.

She had run into the young girl while in Coast City. Kiera was trying to steal a basket of bread from a farmer's market.

"_Are you all alone?" Aubrey asked. The young girl in front of her nodded. Her dark brown hair was frayed and matted, her face dirty. The girl's eyes glistened with fear, and her mouth was shoved full of bread. She must have been homeless._

"_I'm Aubrey." Aubrey said slowly, approaching the girl with her hands raised. "You don't have to be alone, if you don't want."_

Aubrey was fifteen at the time, and Kiera was twelve. The same age that Jared was when he died.

"If something happens to her, I'll be all alone _again._ And that will be on you," Aubrey hissed. John looked genuinely puzzled, and perhaps a bit hurt. Two very unfamiliar expressions on the dark haired man.

"Aubrey… I'm so sorry. I had no idea that the devices they gave us… You have to believe that I had no idea." John paused, taking a gentle step toward Kiera. "You know this is _not_ what our family is about."

"Do not touch me." Right then, Aubrey felt far closer to being on fire than she had when running through the flames of the Dexter Lofts. Her entire torso was so filled with tension that she was shaking.

"Aubrey you have to see how truly sorry I am. I only want to help people like us, the people who are pushed down and stepped on by those who climb to the top. You know that. I only agreed to work with these people because I thought we shared the same goal…" John trailed off. "How did Kiera get to the hospital?"

"Some people helped me save her. Vigilante types." Aubrey spat out the words. Many images of the blonde masked boy flashed in her head, as well as plenty of images of him without his mask. "After all your words about them protecting corrupt and wealthy people and harming poor people just trying to make a living… _You _nearly killed Kiera, and _they_ helped her."

"Aubrey… I—" Aubrey cut John off.

"You're sorry. I heard. Try telling that to Kiera. She's in Haven Medical Center, and _someone _is going to need to foot the bill—whether she survives or not." Her silver eyes flashed dangerously as she turned to exit the room. Not via the elevator—she couldn't stand to be in the same building as John.

"Aubrey, Kiera will be fine." He called to her as she felt the humid night air hit her on the balcony. "And you will never be alone as long as you're with us. With me. Your family."

The only thing Aubrey could do in reply was bark out a short, cold laugh of disgust.


End file.
